For Want of a Handkerchief
by Lynliss
Summary: Bilbo's housekeeper has a Took-ish streak, and when she discovers her employer has vanished, leaving behind his handkerchief, she takes it upon herself to track him down and return it. And perhaps find an adventure of her own along the way. Thorin/OC
1. Chapter 1

Bell Goodchild pulled open the gate outside of Bag End and stepped through, twisting to avoid knocking her basket against the post. Warm sunshine cast a golden light over the Shire, but wasn't warm enough to make her uncomfortable. In all, a most agreeable day.

The gate swung shut behind her with a thud. A mop of brown curls over a smiling, ruddy face, appeared from behind a rosebush. "Miss Bell! Fancy us being here at the same time!"

_Fancy it, indeed, _ Bell thought to herself. "Getting some extra pruning time, Mister Gamgee?" she asked. No matter what time she chose to arrive, the Gamgee lad always managed to be on hand. Didn't he have any other gardens to tend in Hobbiton?

Hamfast Gamgee blushed, although it was hard to tell behind his naturally red complexion. "Well, Mister Bilbo should have a finest roses, now shouldn't he? It's only right. Besides," he shuffled his large, hairy feet, "this bush grows just outside the kitchen. I figured, with you spending so much time in there, baking those delicious seed cakes and suchlike, it might be nice for you to have something . . . pretty to look at while you're about it."

Bell gave a rueful smile. Hamfast Gamgee was so very _thoughtful_. If only she felt any inkling of care for him, beyond the simple affection of a neighbor and fellow employee. It would make her father happy. It would make Hamfast happy. It would probably even make Bilbo happy. She could imagine it now. How he would light up with glee at the notion that his gardener and his housekeeper were setting up a home.

"I'm running late," Bell said, by way of escaping before Hamfast could unconsciously make her feel even worse about herself. "Thank you for the kind thought."

"Say nothing of it, Miss Bell," he said, trying to bob a polite bow and accidentally sticking his head into the bush.

Bell crossed the last few steps to the door. Something odd caught her eye. A strange scratch. More than one scratch.

She bent and ran a finger along the bare wood where the paint had been sliced through. It almost made a letter, but not one she was familiar with. She nibbled her lower lip. It might be Elvish. Or Dwarvish.

_Or nothing at all, foolish girl_. She knocked.

"Good morning, and no thank you!" came Bilbo's voice from behind the door. "I've told you already, I've no use for adventures!"

Bell cocked her head. "Mister Bilbo, it's me. Bell?"

The green door swung inward. Bilbo slipped past her, puffing on his pipe in an agitated manner. He cast his eyes up and down the path. "Did you see anyone?" he asked.

"None but Hamfast Gamgee. Mister Bilbo," she said, "didn't you just have your door repainted last week?"

Bilbo focused his attention back on her and blinked, as if finally noticing her for the first time. "Yes, of course I did. Why do you-" he glanced down at her basket and his eyebrows raised. "What's that you've got there?"

"Oh," Bell said, distracted from her question. "Father was fishing this morning. He sent this trout along. Thought you might like it for your supper. I should put it on ice before it gets any warmer."

"Oh, splendid! How very thoughtful your father is. Come inside," he herded her through the door. "I have to ask a favor of you today, Bell. You see, I've rather rashly gone and invited a . . . gentleman . . . to tea. I've eaten through most of the seed cakes. Do you think-it wouldn't be too much bother-"

Bell turned into the pantry and opened the lid on the ice box, mostly buried in the dirt. She slipped the trout inside. "Of course I'll whip something together for you and your guest, Mister Bilbo. I was planning to do a spot of baking today anyways. I like to keep your larder full."

"Yes," Bilbo said, rubbing a hand over his belly. "You do keep me well looked after. If you don't mind, I'd like to go into my library and catch up on some reading."

"You go straight ahead, Mister Bilbo," Bell waved him out into the hallway. "I'll just get your things laid out for tomorrow, then see about the cooking."

"Too kind," he mumbled as he vanished down the curving passageway.

Bell shook her head and smiled. A halo of golden curls had managed to work their way out of her braids, as they always did. They swayed, tickling her cheeks. "Whatever would he do without me?" she pondered aloud.

With a shrug, she disappeared into his bedchamber. It was a matter of minutes to pull out his usual Monday things and lay them on the dressing table. Lastly, she pulled out a pressed handkerchief, embroidered with an ornate 'B' for Baggins, and set it beside the pair of brown trousers.

Satisfied, she went back to the larder and gathered flour, sugar, eggs, and the other necessary items for an afternoon of baking. Outside the kitchen window, golden roses smiled in at her. She pressed her lips together to smother a sigh and turned her attention to her cooking.

#

Back in her own hole, much further down the hill, along the eastern road, Bell finished nibbling on a slice of buttered toast and settled herself beside her mother's chest. She didn't open it often-too many things inside sparked painful memories-but she thought she remembered an old journal with notes on both Elvish and Dwarvish.

The mystery of the scratches on Bilbo's door had weighed on her mind, especially after she left. He'd looked so agitated, and wouldn't divulge the name of the "gentleman" he was expecting to tea. And what was that he'd said about adventures before he opened the door?

Bell smelled a mystery, and mysteries were just the sort of thing to draw her attention. Oh, she tried to keep the Took-ish tendencies hidden. Most folks had forgotten the old bloodline on her mother's side, after all, but it lay there, waiting for moments to surge to the fore.

Beneath a stack of neatly-folded linens, she found it. A large, leather-bound journal, its page filled, not with her mother's hand, but a grandparent, or great-grand, or perhaps even greater than that.

Bell pulled it free, settled it over her crossed legs, and set about flipping through the pages. It didn't take long to discover that the scratch was definitely not Elvish, but the shape was definitely reminiscent of Dwarvish.

Daylight had faded enough that Bell had to light a candle to see by before she found it-a rune that matched what she'd seen on Bilbo's door. She followed her finger across to the far side of the page and found a translation: _Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward_.

"Burglar wants a . . ." Bell leapt to her feet, nearly knocking over the candle. "Mister Bilbo!"

She grabbed her cloak, hustled out the door and onto the road. The nearly full moon hung low in the sky, giving her enough light to see by. She hurried along the curving path but stopped short when she spotted a stranger standing in the middle of it, hands fisted against his waist, muttering under his breath in a language Bell didn't recognize.

He was tall, and his long, dark hair, laced with traces of silver that glinted in the moonlight hung in waves. The drape of his cloak showed he was broad-shouldered, and solidly built. This was no hobbit, and from the tone of his voice he was more than slightly vexed.

Bell contemplated backing away on silent feet, but the mystery of a strange man-surely he must be a Dwarf, he wasn't tall enough to be a Man-combined with the strange rune marked on Bilbo's door were too much to resist.

Her heart thudding against her breastbone, she moved forward. "Excuse me, sir. Is there anything I can do to be of service?"

#

**I love comments! Criticism and praise are both helpful to me as a writer. Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin Oakenshield's fists clenched and he muttered Dwarven curses under his breath. "Easy to find, Gandalf? Easy to find?"

The night wind was crisp against his skin. A breath of woodsmoke tinged the air. Happy halflings nestled all snug in their holes, while he bumbled about like a lost child.

Feeling his ire rising hot, Thorin forced out a slow breath. An owl swooped low overhead on silent wings. Nothing else moved in the darkness.

"Excuse me, sir. Is there anything I can do to be of service?"

Thorin spun and reached with one hand for the hilt of his sword, crouching into a fighting stance instinctively. When his eyes settled on a small feminine form in the middle of the path, he straightened. How had this-girl? woman?-approached him unnoticed?

"I don't mean to be a bother, sir." She raised her hands in front of her and edged forward, as if she were approaching an unknown dog and wanted to show she wasn't a threat.

Thorin pulled back his shoulders and cleared his throat. "You . . . wouldn't happen to know where I might find a place called _Bag End_?" He'd searched all along the lower reaches of the hills, checked every door. Nothing. For a burglar in search of employment this hobbit Gandalf had selected showed little sign of wanting to be found.

The figure drew near enough that Thorin could make out her face clearly in the moonlight. A young woman, past the ungainly period of childhood, but not far advanced yet in years. She had a heart-shaped face framed by a mass of pale curls and wide, round eyes. Somehow, they reminded him of the doors that dotted the Shire.

The corner of her lips turned up in a sideways smile. "Of course, I do. Everyone knows where to find Bag End." She gestured past him, up a trail he'd not yet trod, that led up the higher reaches of the hill. "If you go along that way, then turn left at William Proudfoot's white fence, walk a little farther on and look for the crooked hedge . . ."

Thorin blinked.

The hobbit lass paused. "Perhaps I'd best just take you there?"

"I would be . . . obliged."

"Right then. Follow me."

She stepped past him, and led off up the hill. Her feet made no sound on the dirt path. Her skirts swayed, but made little noise beyond what might be mistaken for the wind through the grass. His own booted feet crunched over each pebble and stone, making him suddenly aware how much louder he was than he had thought.

Up and up they climbed. No wonder he hadn't managed to find the burglar's door. What sort of thief lived so high on the hill? He didn't know much about halflings, but what little he did told him that the higher the hole, the wealthier the hobbit.

At last, the lass paused in front of a gate. Thorin didn't need to look at the door to know they'd come to the right place. The sounds of merriment emanating from the hillside were unmistakable. Apparently the rest of his company had managed to find the place.

Thorin opened the gate and stepped through, crossing to the door with purposeful strides. He'd been ready to fume at the old wizard when he found him for giving such insufficient direction, but found his irritation had waned.

He turned to thank the hobbit lass, but when he looked back, she was gone. "How did she-"

Thorin shrugged. It was time to meet this burglar and begin the quest for Erebor in earnest. He turned and pounded on the door.

#

Bell huddled behind a low grassy hummock, biting down on one curved finger and trying not to breathe. She heard Bilbo's door swing wide, and a rich, melodious voice said "Allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Then the door closed and the voices became muffled. Bell allowed herself to breathe again.

What, in the name of all the Valar, was Mister Baggins about? No one had seen Dwarves in the Shire for as long as she'd been alive, and when they'd been seen before then, it hadn't been in Hobbiton. So what were they doing making their way to Bag End, to the home of one of the most respectable hobbits to be found? And what was he doing with one of their runes on his door?

The respectable side of Bell urged her to turn around, make her way back to her own little hole, and pretend she'd never seen a thing. Surely, that would be what Mister Bilbo would want. If word got round that he'd been seen in the company of Dwarves, people might start _talking_, and talking led to gossip and guessing and assumptions, and soon enough people would be giving him the sideways eye over the vegetable stalls on market day.

But by the time she'd finished thinking it through, she'd crept through the fence-between the cross-slats, rather than risk the noise of the gate-and all the way to the window beneath the kitchen. The scent of Hamfast's roses filled the air, mixed with a powerful cloud of pipe-smoke that drifted down from an open window in the dining room.

The voices were loud enough that Bell could make out several different voices, and some of the words, but not enough to satisfy her curiosity. She needed to get closer. Besides, what if Mister Bilbo were in some sort of trouble? Wouldn't it be her duty to help him?

She slunk along the wall, clinging to the shadows, until she stood just beneath the open shutters of the dining room.

Now she could hear what was being said. Something about a mountain, and a key, and a . . . _dragon_?

Bell shoved the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle a gasp. No good. No _good_! What sort of fiends were these to drag poor Mister Bilbo off to such an adventure?

She could stand it no longer.

Bell straightened until her eyes could just peer over the window-ledge. The tidy little dining room was crowded to overflowing with be-braided, grizzled, worn-leather garbed Dwarves, and one tall man whose head nearly brushed the roof.

Her jaw lolled open and she snapped it shut, realizing she looked like one of her father's trout. Where was Mister Bilbo? Oh, there he was at the far end, reading from a large, unfolded parchment. He looked fit to . . . _faint_.

Too late. Bilbo hit the ground like a felled tree.

A cry leapt from her lips before she could pull it back. The Dwarves jumped up to tend to the fallen hobbit, but the tall man turned his head towards the window.

Bell ducked down and leaned up against the wall, her chest heaving_. Don't have seen me. Don't have seen me_.

After a few minutes, afraid to move, unable to see what was happening to poor Mister Bilbo, Bell decided the man must not have seen her, or if he had, decided she wasn't worth pursuing.

Gathering her courage, she peered back inside. Bilbo was sitting upright, supported by a Dwarf with a strange hat that curved out at the sides, and surrounded by the rest, including the one she'd brought to his door. That one-_Thorin Oakenshield_-stared down at him with a dark look. His lips were pressed thin, his dark brows furrowed close in the middle, and he glanced back and forth from the hobbit to the tall man time and again.

At last, the Dwarf with the strange hat helped Bilbo up and assisted him down the hallway, to his bedchamber, Bell presumed.

She hurried on silent feet to the far side of the front door and waited beneath the bedchamber window. Soon enough, the melodious voice she'd heard earlier, and now knew to be the tall man, began to speak.

Long, they talked, Bilbo and the man-Gandalf, he called him. By the time they were through, Bell finally began to relax. Bilbo had made it clear that Bag End was his home, and where he would stay, and it didn't sound as if the Dwarves were likely to drag him off against his will.

Bell shivered and struggled against a yawn. The night mists had fallen, coating her face, hair and hands with a fine sheet of moisture. She could hardly feel her fingers.

Peering up at the moon, she guessed the night was at least half-gone. If she was to be any use in the morning-and Mister Bilbo was expecting her for sweeping and laundry-she needed to get home and get some rest.

After sneaking back out the way she'd come, Bell began to the walk back down the hill towards her hole. Mister Bilbo would be safe enough. She'd do as she'd thought she should before-pretend nothing had ever happened. Everything would be as was to be expected.

But even while she walked, bathed in soft moonlight, she couldn't stop thinking about what she'd heard. Of the Lonely Mountain, and the great Dwarf realm of Erebor. Even the dragon waiting there. The stirring melody the Dwarves had sung while she hid unseen played over and again in her mind. _Far over the Misty Mountains cold _. . .

A small part of her wondered what it would be like. And she wished she would have had the chance to find out.

#

**Author's Note: I should say that Bell Goodchild is not precisely an OC. She does exist in Tolkien's lore, although there is very little known about her. This is my take on what her story could have been.**

**Thank you for the comments and the follows and favorites. Every one of them makes me smile!**


	3. Chapter 3

A loud pounding startled Bell into wakefulness. "Bell, you layabout!" her father bellowed. "You've slept through first breakfast! Mister Baggins will think you've abandoned him"

She glanced out the window past her lace white curtains. A low layer of thin clouds blocked the sun, but it was bright enough to tell she'd slept well past when she should have been awake.

"I'm up!" she called back, afraid her father would accidentally break down the door if he kept after it.

Bell threw herself out of bed, grabbed the nearest clothes, a brown workday skirt with a white blouse and cornflower blue bodice, tied a green ribbon around her wild curls, in place of her more sensible-but much slower-braids, and pulled her door open.

Her father waited there with a trout in a basket, his white hair in a wild tangle. "Take this with you, girl." He shoved the basket into her hands and herded her down the hallway. "Be off now. Can't think what's gotten into you."

Bell made her way up the hill, the rush of energy from her rude awakening fading away leaving her very aware of how tired she remained. Whatever had she been thinking, creeping around like a thief in the night, _spying _on Mister Bilbo, leaving her good for nothing in the morning when she had a full day of work laid out before her?

"That was more than enough adventuring for you, Bell Goodchild."

The sound of her own voice startled her. She hadn't meant to speak the thought aloud.

She came upon the dip in the road where she'd found the Dwarf the night before. In the daylight, it was hard to believe he wasn't a figment of an overactive imagination. Surely he must have been something conjured from too little sleep and too much red wine with her supper. The memory of his tall, proud figure swathed in black, sharp eyes glinting down at her in the moonlight, felt like a wisp of dream.

She peered at the ground, but it had been so trampled that any hope of spotting a clear set of footprints was quickly lost.

Bell shivered and hurried on.

When she reached Bag End's gate, she paused. Something wasn't right.

She crinkled her nose, trying to place what felt off, then realized that she smelled nothing. No smoke rose from the little chimney. Bilbo always lit his fire in the morning, without fail-even when bothered by a sore throat or other ague.

The rune was still etched on the door as clear as could be. No, the Dwarves of the previous night had been no dream.

Bell raised a hand, hesitated, then rapped on the door.

Nothing.

Once again. "Mister Bilbo? Sir?"

When nothing stirred within, Bell swallowed down a rush of nerves and pushed open the door. It wasn't locked. She knew it wouldn't be. Hobbits were trusting sorts, and besides, except for those grasping Sackville-Bagginses, it was beneath a hobbit's dignity to go snooping through someone else's things.

She stepped inside. "Bilbo?"

What a sight met her eyes. Furniture stood askew. Dishware was piled high in the sink. Frying pans, plates, mugs, silverware. Dirt had been tracked up and down the long hallway. It did look as if someone had tried sweeping it, but had succeeded in little more than making strange little lines that traced through the mess.

The place was redolent of pipes, but it wasn't the local leaf. This was something different. Exotic. Beneath it all hung a musky scent she had noticed the night before, as she stood near to Thorin. It was earthy, and hummed at the edge of her awareness.

The door to Bilbo's bedchamber stood ajar. Bell peeked inside and found it was empty. The clothes she'd set out the day before were gone, but the handkerchief still lay on the dressing table, pristine and untouched.

Bell reached for the handkerchief, hands trembling. The cloth felt cool and crisp between her fingers.

Had the Dwarves abducted Bilbo after all?

She backed slowly out the door, shaking her head. _Not possible. Not possible_.

Her gaze fell on the mantelpiece. An envelope rested against the clock with her name scrawled across its front in a hasty hand. She tucked the handkerchief in a pocket of her skirt, snatched up the letter, and tore it open.

_Miss Bell_, it read, _I will not be in need of your services for the foreseeable future. I've gone on an adventure. Will recompense you for your lost wages. - B_

"He's gone," Bell said on a soft exhale, hardly able to believe the evidence in front of her eyes. "Mister Bilbo's gone off with the Dwarves. To see the Misty Mountains. Erebor. _A dragon_."

Yearning tugged at her heart so hard she forgot to breathe. If only she could have gone with him. How would he manage? What would he eat? What sort of new and fabulous sight was he already seeing?

She pressed the kerchief to her trembling lips. Froze.

_His_ handkerchief.

Mister Bilbo had forgotten it. He _always_ carried a fresh kerchief. There was no way he would have chosen to leave it behind. In his haste, so clear in the rushed handwriting on his note, he must have run out the door without it.

"Don't worry, Mister Bilbo," Bell said. "I'll see you get it."

Bell raced out the door and nearly bowled over Hamfast Gamgee who was standing on the front path.

"Oy!" he said, catching her by the shoulders as she stumbled to an abrupt halt. "Whatever's the matter, Miss Bell?"

"It's Mister Bilbo." She straightened and wrung her hand in the folds of her skirt. "He's gone off on an adventure . . . and he's left his handkerchief behind!"

"On a what?"

"An adventure. I've got to catch him. To give him the kerchief." Her feet ached to break into a run, but Hamfast stood between herself and the gate.

"But it's like to rain soon!" Consternation tore over his face. "You haven't even got a cloak."

"He'll need this," Bell said. "I have to go." She could almost feel Bilbo slipping farther away with each heartbeat, and with him Thorin, the company of Dwarves, and all hope of adventure she ever expected to see in her lifetime.

Hamfast pulled off his own cloak and offered it to her. "Take this, then. And, Bell, you be careful. Adventures aren't the sort of thing for hobbit-folk."

Bell took the cloak and, impulsively, gave Hamfast the tiniest of pecks on his cheek. "You're a good friend to me. Keep an eye out for Bag End, until he returns? And tell my father I'll return as quick as I can?"

"That I will," he said, blushing furiously, a gruff hitch in his voice.

Bell hurried out the gate, turned and waved back over her shoulder. "Goodbye, then, Mister Gamgee! Wish me luck!"

#

**Author's Note: The adventure begins . . . **

**Any comments? I love to hear if you're enjoying the story.**


	4. Chapter 4

Bell took off at a quick trot, all the way down the hill, past the turning to her own hole-Hamfast would deliver her message, and her father would only try to talk her out of chasing after Bilbo-and beside the softly rippling waters where the two steams merged just before Bywater.

The market in Bywater was in full swing. Hobbits haggled over the proper price for a jar of clover honey, boasted of the size of their cabbage heads, and young ones dashed in and out between the stalls, giggling and shrieking.

Slowing to a walk, both to catch her breath and to avoid colliding with any children not watching where they were going, Bell made her way through the market. She caught a glimpse of old Widow Bolger at the far end of the market square and hurried towards her. Although she was ancient, as hobbit-folk go, Widow Bolger still had keen eyes, and little escaped her scrutiny.

"Bell Goodchild," the widow said, setting down her knitting, "Can I interest you in a nice woolen shawl? Or perhaps one of these doilies? Just finished them up last evening."

"Thank you, no," Bell panted. Her breathing was still heavy from having run all the way from Hobbiton. "I wonder, though, have you seen any Dwarves through Bywater today? Or Mister Baggins of Bag End?"

The widow's white eyebrows rose and she squinched her lips into a disapproving scowl. "Dwarves," she muttered, lowering her voice. "I saw Dwarves, all right. Very early this morning. A whole troop of them, traveling in company with that wandering conjuror Gandalf, of the famous fireworks. Don't like to think what such disreputable folks are doing in these parts." She narrowed her eyes. "What might _you_ be wanting with Dwarves?"

"Me? I don't want anything with Dwarves."

It was the expected answer, but Bell couldn't help realizing it wasn't true. She wanted very much to have more to do with Dwarves, but Widow Bolger wouldn't understand that, and besides, what Widow Bolger knew, everyone in Bywater would know within an hour.

"I'm looking for Mister Baggins," Bell continued. "Did you happen to see him?"

The widow picked her knitting back up and began to clickety-clack the needles. "Saw what might have been the tail end of him. Running like all of Honeyman Boffin's bees were after him. He went off that way," she gestured with her head, "towards Budgeford."

Bell bobbed a curtsey. "Thank you kindly, Widow Bolger. You've been very helpful."

The widow's voice trailed after her on the breeze as she hurried away down the eastward road. "You won't catch him, dearie! He's got quite a start on you!"

Bell ignored the widow's words.

The road stretched ahead along the south bank of The Water, as this stretch of river was known. A crisp breeze blew, full of the scent of mallows and hollyhock. On any other day, Bell would pause to enjoy it, to watch the swallows flitting over the meadow and fish jumping in the shallows, but on this day she forced her legs into an unaccustomed run.

Before long her limbs were aching, her lungs burned, and a thin sheen of sweat coated her from tip to toe. If her father could have seen her, he'd have sputtered and huffed and lectured her on the proper behavior of hobbit ladies until he was blue in the face.

Bell's stomach grumbled and she realized she hadn't eaten anything since supper the night before, nor did she have any food with her, or coin to buy any upon reaching Budgeford. This wouldn't do. She couldn't run forever on nothing.

For lack of any other options, Bell knelt at The Water's edge and scooped up handfuls which she slurped down eagerly, trying not to let any slip down her forearms and into her sleeves.

At least a little refreshed, she hurried on and at last the bridge at Budgeford came into view. Budgeford lay in a relatively flat area of the Shire, so there were a few cottages together near the center of town, for there weren't quite enough holes to house all the folks who lived in the area. It was also the farthest Bell had ever traveled from home. She'd never gotten as far as Buckland, and she could only just make out a dark line at the horizon that was the near edge of the Old Forest.

Would she have to go that far before she found Bilbo?

Even though she was hot from her exertions, Bell shivered at the thought. This adventuring was proving to be uncomfortable indeed. What if she had to enter the Old Forest alone?

"Don't take on trouble that isn't here yet," she said, straightening her shoulders and shaking her head to free her curls from her perspiration-soaked brow. "Budgeford first."

The market at Budgeford had a different feel than those in Hobbiton and Bywater. More gentlemen hobbits with woodwork for sale, leather goods, and even a dark-haired fellow with a Buckland look about him selling metalwork, including a few knives.

Bell kept watch for anyone she might know, even a little bit. With each passing step, she grew more despondent. Not a soul. So many strangers. She felt keenly alone, despite being surrounded by hobbits.

Her empty belly twisted and she bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. She was _not_ going to cry. Adventurers didn't do such undignified things, no matter how tempting it might seem. And she hadn't even left the Shire yet!

Then her gaze fell on a particularly tall hobbit gentleman with dark auburn hair gone white at the edges. A long scar ran down the left side of his face, which gave him a fierce look, despite his broad grin. She knew this man. Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland. He'd been to visit Mister Baggins on several occasions, and Bell had been asked to help serve the tea to such an important personage.

He didn't look so very important today. He wore simply homespun and a leather vest, and stood beside a cart that was empty, save for scattered pieces of bark littering the floorboards.

Bell approached him cautiously. Would he remember her?

"Excuse me, Master Brandybuck, I wonder if I might have a word?"

Saradoc looked down at her with bright blue eyes that widened as recognition dawned. "Why, you're Mister Baggins' housekeeper! Beth was it?"

"Bell, sir."

"Right, yes, of course. What can I do for you?"

So Bell laid out her errand with as little mention of Dwarves and as much emphasis on catching up to Bilbo, to give him his "important item that he left behind," as she could manage. Standing there in Budgeford, she couldn't bring herself to mention that the item was a handkerchief. What had made perfect sense in Hobbiton felt quite silly and frivolous now. Best to keep that little detail to herself.

"Hmm," said Saradoc. "Mister Baggins did come through earlier today, in company with many Dwarves. You're on the right path to catch him, but they were all riding ponies, girl. You won't catch them afoot."

Bell's shoulders slumped. Had she come so far only to fail? Was all of this nothing more than a silly girl's impossible dream?

"Don't look so downhearted!" Saradoc said. "It so happens that I'm on my way from here on towards Bree. I can give you a ride, if you'd like."

"Oh, would you? Could you?" Bell paused and looked down at her empty hands. "I haven't got anything to pay you with."

Saradoc grinned. "I'd enjoy the company. It's a long road to travel with no one to talk to but my own self. Here," he offered her a hand, "let me help you up."

So in the course of a few minutes, Bell found herself sitting in the back of Saradoc Brandybuck's cart, rolling off down the road. "Are you hungry, Bell?" he asked, when her stomach complained loudly. "There's a picnic basket under the bench. Help yourself to an apple and a sweet roll."

Bell smiled. Perhaps there was hope for this adventurer after all.

#

**Author's Note: Looking ahead to the next chapter, wherein Bell will finally catch up to Thorin and company.**

**Thank you so much for all the comments! Glad to hear people are enjoying the tale.**


	5. Chapter 5

The road followed along the northern border of the Old Forest, weaving in and out among the trees. They grew close together, leaving large, shadowy swaths. If not for Saradoc's continuous monologue-with occasional pauses for an expected, "mmm-hmm," or a "really?"-Bell felt sure she would have been quite uncomfortable indeed. As it was, with the Master of Buckland's enthusiastic company, she tried to relax and enjoy the sights. Trees were nothing to be frightened of. There were plenty and enough back in Hobbiton, just not so densely packed.

"There's every chance your Mister Bilbo has stopped for the night in Bree," Saradoc said, after the road turned south on the far side of the Old Forest. "There's an inn there that caters to both little folk and large. They'd have enough rooms for thirteen Dwarves, a hobbit, and the wandering wizard. So cheer up! I'm sure you'll be able to make your delivery and be on your way back to the Shire in the morning. I'll be heading back home myself, and can take you as far as Buckleberry."

Bell wasn't so certain. The Dwarves had seemed in quite a hurry to be about their business, and she didn't think they were the sort who would balk at spending nights out of doors, if it would purchase them a few hours of extra time to get closer to their goal.

"You're very kind, Master Brandybuck," she said, then slipped back into silence.

When they reached Bree, they passed through the open west gate, manned by a grizzled Man. His grim face brightened when he laid eyes on Saradoc. "Master Brandybuck! Good to see you again. Butterbur will be expecting you. I hear he's got a full shipment of ale to send west with you."

Bell watched the town roll past in fascination. Everything was built so _tall_. Not only were the buildings sized for Men, many stood two, and even three stories high. She pressed herself back against the wall of the cart and tried to think herself invisible.

Saradoc reined his team of ponies to a halt. "Here we are, then. The Prancing Pony. Duck on inside, and see if Bilbo's here. I've got to nip around back and see about that shipment."

The older hobbit gave Bell a hand down. Her toes curled on the hard-packed dirt. It felt grittier than Shire stuff.

Taking her courage in hand, she slipped inside. It was much like The Green Dragon back home, full of menfolk eating, drinking, blowing smoke rings, and a fiddler in the corner lilting a sprightly tune. Of course, everyone was much larger, but the familiarity was comforting.

Bell walked up the counter. "Excuse me," she said, pitching her voice louder than was her wont to be heard over the hubbub, "but have you seen any Dwarves today? And a hobbit with them?"

The innkeeper looked down over his counter and his bushy eyebrows rose. "A lady hobbit? When I think I've seen everything." He wiped a cloth along the top of the counter, although it looked clean enough to Bell. "Yes, a large company of Dwarves and a hobbit came through but an hour or so ago. Said they were in need of provisions."

"They've gone on, then?"

"I expect so. I sent them out to talk to young Barliman in the storeroom. Will you be wanting a room for the night?"

Bell shook her head. "I'm afraid I won't. Did they say which way they were going?"

"Not to me. You might ask Barliman, though. Out the front door, around the back, and look for the skinny lad whose feet are too big for his body." The innkeeper leaned forward, held up his hand in front of his face, and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, "It's a Butterbur tradition. The feet always grow first."

Bell managed a "thank you," then hurried back outside.

Barliman was easy enough to find. He was helping Saradoc load casks into the back of the cart, despite the fact that he was so skinny it looked like the weight of the barrels should snap him in two.

Saradoc saw her first. "Is Bilbo here?"

"No, he isn't." She turned her attention to young Barliman. "The innkeeper told me you'd sold provisions to a company of Dwarves earlier?"

"That I did. Quite the motley group that, although the leader seemed like a noble sort of fellow. And Gandalf, too! Always glad to clap eyes on him. He set of a whizz-banger and startled Old Bessie there so hard she kicked the water trough."

"Did they say where they were going?"

The lad wrinkled his nose. "Up into the hills, I think. Can't miss the trail if you leave town by the southeast gate. Haven't been many headed that direction in a good long while, though. There's rumors of _unusual_ things creeping about."

Saradoc set down his barrel. "Now, you wait just a minute, Bell. You're not planning to take off after them, are you?"

Bell hesitated, then nodded. "I think I must. Besides, they're not far ahead are they?"

"Left just about an hour ago," Barliman agreed.

"I'll just have to hurry, that's all."

"You've got no provision," said Saradoc. "No pack. Not even so much as a pair of gloves."

"I'm sorry, I really must go. Thank you, Master Brandybuck, for the ride. I'm ever so grateful, and I'll owe you a good turn if ever you have need of one."

The older hobbit's face darkened. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Barliman, do have you any packs in stock?"

"Not a pack so much as a sack."

"That'll have to do. Load it up with some traveling food for Miss Goodchild. Add the price to my ale purchase."

"Oh, Master Brandybuck . . ." Bell began.

He cut her off with a raised hand. "I don't like letting you go on alone, and I don't mind saying it. I can't force you to stay, but I'll be nackered if I'll send you off without proper supplies. Do you have a knife?"

She shook her head.

Saradoc produced a small, sheathed knife from inside a vest pocket. It was only as long as Bell's hand, but from the look of its handle it was built for utility, not for appearances. "Take this," Saradoc said. "Return it to me when you come back through Buckland."

It felt wrong to take his charity, but when Bell thought of the road ahead, she knew it was the better part of valor to accept with as much grace as she could muster.

"Thank you," she said, buttoning the sheath over her own belt. "For everything."

"Here's your sack, Miss," said Barliman. "You'd best hurry. Not many hours of daylight left."

"Goodbye, Master Brandybuck, Barliman. Wish me luck."

She pretended not to hear Barliman's muttered, "She'll need it," as she hurried towards the southeast gate.

#

The path had, indeed, been easy to find, and Bell made good time to start. It rose steadily up into the hills, through copses of trees and rolling meadowlands. Bell jogged in the occasional dips and flat spots and hiked as fast as she could manage along the climbs.

It was easy enough to tell that she was on the right path. The ponies left both hoofprints and fragrant mementos of their passing. Bell wrinkled her nose when she passed the leavings, but at the same time, they reassured her, and she kept a keen watch for the next pile.

The sun soon began to sink rapidly in the west. Shadows lengthened. The temperature dropped, and Bell found herself grateful for Hamfast's cloak wrapped close around her.

Surely the Dwarves must be making camp by now. If she just kept moving, she couldn't help but come across them. As long as there was enough light to be sure she wouldn't lose the path, she intended to keep on walking.

Once the sun reached the horizon, daylight faded with startling speed. Bell was forced to slow, to watch the ground carefully, to be sure she didn't miss any roots or twigs-or pony droppings-that might be in the way.

The forest grew louder, or at least it seemed to. Every creak of a tree limb, the skittering feet of small woodland creatures, each felt amplified and more dangerous than it would in the warm light of day. Bell shivered, but kept moving. She'd glanced into the bag Barliman had provided and, while it held a cheese round, dried fruit, nuts, and salted meat, there was nothing with which to start a fire. Stopping now would be nothing less than foolish. Any chance of catching her quarry would be lost, and she would suffer a very long, very cold night.

The path narrowed, the ground dropping away to the south in a sharp precipice overlooking a valley between the hill on which she stood and the next. The moon had come out, casting a pale silver light that made the landscape appear both barren and magical at once.

Bell caught a whiff of smoke on the wind and-heavenly-cooking sausage. She had to be close now.

Soon she heard voices ahead, low and muted, and she slowed to a crawl. How best to approach them? Whatever would Bilbo say? And Thorin? He'd seemed less than pleased to have one hobbit with them. What would he do when faced with a second? Would he send her away?

She crept closer, keeping to the shadows. One of the Dwarves was telling a tale. Of Thorin and a great battle before the Mines of Moria.

Thorin himself stood overlooking the valley, his profile proud. The breeze caught at his hair and cloak, waving them both like banners.

Bell listened intently to the tale, shuddering at the horrors of battle the old Dwarf described. Orcs, full of malice and evil, and enough spilled blood to turn the rivers red.

Her stomach somersaulted and her fingers curled around the hilt of the knife at her waist.

A low growl rumbled up out of the darkness behind her.

At first, Bell thought she was imagining it, but the rumbling intensified.

She turned her head, very slowly, and found a pair of baleful red eyes glaring out from the shadows.

Before she could move, the beast leapt forward in a rush of fur and fury.

Bell took a step backwards towards the Dwarf encampment, tearing the knife from its sheath. She stumbled over something unseen and sprawled on her backside. Moonlight fell full on the bounding creature. A wolf, spittle dripping from its jaws.

Bell threw her arm up in front of herself and screamed.

**Author's Note: WOLF!**

**Thank you so much for all the comments! I'm really enjoying spending time in Tolkien's world. There are so many fun little corners to explore.**


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin stared out over the valley. A growing sense of unease hung over him. Fili and Kili had been having a bit of a joke at Bilbo's expense, which normally wouldn't trouble him too terribly, but the sound they heard _did_ sound Orcish in nature.

He'd stalked off with a harsh word to his nephews, and Balin, bless him, took it upon himself to deliver the tale of Azog the Defiler. Bilbo probably needed to hear it, but the memory of that battle haunted Thorin's nights, sometimes waking him cold and sweating both together.

He never mentioned it to his companions, not for all the long years since that day. It showed weakness, which a Dwarven king could not afford, particularly not one who had yet to retake his own halls. So he stood apart from the rest and studied the distant hillside, although he could make out nothing on the far side.

And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of place. It wasn't something he could name, only a tremor that seemed to shiver past on the wind, whispering to him to be on guard. One hand he kept on the hilt of his sword, the other grasped a throwing axe.

Balin came to the end of his tale, "There was a man, who I could call King."

Thorin felt fourteen pairs of eyes on him, weighing him, judging him. He turned towards the others, the line of his back proud and strong. The image of a king in exile.

In the near distance, the underbrush trembled. Red eyes flashed with reflected firelight.

Thorin was moving even before he heard a low thud and a piercing scream.

He squinted into the darkness, made out the creature's racing silhouette, and launched the throwing axe. The beast staggered sideways and howled.

The rest of the Dwarves surged towards the fight. Kili fired an arrow towards the lurching animal. Dori ran forward with a torch, illuminating the scene, while the rest followed at Thorin's heels.

A wolf, black as midnight, stood over a small-framed body, it's long-muzzled head hanging low. Thorin drew his sword and pierced the beast through its heart. It toppled, legs twitching.

The stranger beneath it struggled against the wolf's weight. Thorin wrenched his sword free of the wolf and extended it towards the trapped interloper.

"Who are you? Why are you spying on us?"

Dwalin and Bofur rolled the wolf's corpse off the stranger's body.

The hood of the spy's cloak fell back. A riot of pale curls spread over the ground. Round blue eyes in a heart-shaped face stared back at him, upside down as she lay on her back.

Thorin's sword wavered, sank. "_You_?"

"Am I dead?" the hobbit maiden asked.

Blood streaked the side of her face, but Thorin couldn't make out any cuts. Likely it was the wolf's blood. Unused to being taken by surprise, he hesitated, not sure whether to reassure her or throttle her. _Hammer and stone_, what was she doing here?

Gandalf stepped forward, the crystal at the top of his staff casting a circle of white light. "You're not dead just yet, and you can thank Thorin's quick reflexes for it. Gloin, Ori, help her up. Bilbo, where are you?"

"Just here, Gandalf," the hobbit said, peeking out from behind a rock.

Thorin rolled his eyes. Their brave burglar, hiding at the first hint of battle.

"Come and have a look at what has appeared on our doorstep," Gandalf said. "Would I be correct in guessing that you know this person?"

The hobbit's eyes widened and his mouth formed into a little 'o.' "Bell?" he said, followed by a hysterical little giggle. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Thorin stared down at the girl and raised one eyebrow. Ori and Gloin had helped her to a sitting position. She looked shivery and pale and ill.

"Answer the question," Thorin grated when she hesitated.

"I . . . I . . ." she swallowed hard, glancing back and forth between Bilbo and Gandalf and Thorin, as if unsure which one of them she should be answering to. Finally, she addressed herself to Bilbo. "Mister Baggins, you left something behind." She fumbled in her pocket and dragged out a square of white fabric with en embroidered monogram. Her voice was nearly inaudible when she continued. "I've brought you your handkerchief."

#

The ground was very hard, but no harder than Thorin Oakenshield's face. Bell thought perhaps he had turned to the very stone the Dwarves so loved. "You . . . brought . . . him . . . his _handkerchief_?" the dark Dwarf growled.

Already shaky from her encounter with the wolf, her stomach flipped once more. So many sets of eyes. Every one of them staring at her in incredulity, dismay, or horror. If she could have sunk into the ground she would have done so gladly. She hated being the center of attention.

Her gaze turned towards the wizard. He at least was not angry. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched as if he were struggling to contain a smile. "Bilbo, would you please introduce us to this lady?"

Mister Bilbo, who had been staring at her, shaking his head from time to time as if to clear away this impossible evidence before his eyes, broke out of his paralysis. "Yes, of course. Members of the company of Thorin Oakenshield, allow me to introduce Bell Goodchild. My housekeeper." He raced ahead, pointing at each Dwarf in turn. "These are Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Oin, Gloin . . . oh bless me I'm not sure I've got them all down yet . . . er, Dori, Ori, Nori, Fili, Kili, and of course, Thorin himself, King under the Mountain."

Bilbo raised up on his toes, apparently pleased with himself.

The wizard cleared his throat.

"Oh!" said Bilbo, with a nod towards the wizard. "And, also, Gandalf the Grey."

Thorin, who hadn't stopped staring, moved closer, looming over Bell. He cast a shadow that wrapped her in darkness. "How did you find us?" His voice was low and dangerous.

Bell fought the urge to scoot backwards. She tilted her head back and jutted out her chin, trying to fool herself into being brave by playing the part. "After I brought you to Mister Baggins' hole, I hid and listened under the windows. You weren't speaking quietly, and it was easy enough to track a band of Dwarves making no effort that I could discern to hide their passing."

"Still," said Dwalin, "that would have been no easy task for a hobbit lass. She's a resourceful one."

"Good," Thorin said shortly and turned away. "It'll make it easier for her when she returns back to where she came from."

"You're not sending her away?" Bilbo asked. "Not now, in the middle of the night?"

Bell watched Thorin's back go stiff. "Despite what you may think, _Mister Baggins_, I am not a brigand. I'm not sending her away in the middle of the night. She will sleep here until morning, and then we will send her on her way."

Relief flooded through Bell like the river after a heavy spring rain. Most of her strength ebbed away, lost to the long day of travel, worry, and, at the end, abject terror.

Ori, the young dwarf who knelt on her left, must have felt her sag. "Here, now, Miss. Let me help you find a spot to sleep."

Bell let him lead her towards the encampment. A flocks of words fluttered by all around her, but she ignored them all, intent only a falling into a long-overdue rest. She couldn't even muster the energy to worry whether Thorin really would send her away with the morning light.

"Shall I fetch your bag for you?" asked Ori, after directing her to a little hollow under the cliff, slightly apart from the rest, for modesty, she assumed.

Bag? What bag? She was still clutching the little sack of foodstuffs from Bree, and discovered she'd re-sheathed her knife some time earlier. Oh, he must think she had a bedroll, or a change of clothes, or some other _useful_ thing that normal people brought with them on long journeys.

"No, thank you, Ori," she said. "I'll fetch it myself in a bit."

"If you're certain?"

"Quite certain, thanks."

"Well, then. Sleep well, Miss."

Bell curled up against the cliff wall, with the sack beneath her cheek, her head pillowed on the cheese round. She tucked Hamfast's cloak tight around herself and was asleep before anyone else could come and check on her.

#

Thorin lay at the edge of the circle of sleeping men, listening to the familiar racket of Bombur's snoring, and the soft rustle of his companions turning in their slumber. He should be sleeping, but the wolf bothered him more than he liked to admit. It wasn't a warg, at least, but the wolves were their cousins and, often, their eyes.

A strange, strangled moan rose up from outside the circle of firelight, over where the little housekeeper was sleeping. Or perhaps not sleeping to judge by that sound.

Thorin closed his eyes and waited. The sound came again.

Blast.

If she kept it up, she'd wake some of the others. Bofur was a particularly light sleeper, although Oin, of course, could sleep through a thunderstorm.

Moving silently, Thorin crawled out of his bedroll and crept towards the cliff wall. His kept his eyes pointed away from the fire, to preserve his night vision.

When he reached the little curled ball that was Bell, he blinked twice. She shivered and shuddered, wrapped in nothing more than a cloak. Her disheveled hair lay in a tumbled mass around her head. Her eyes were closed, but they darted about beneath her eyelids, as if she were watching something in her sleep.

She startled and whimpered, pressing a balled fist to her lips. Thorin knelt beside her, unsure what to do. She seemed afraid, and likely she was. How many hobbits found themselves set upon by wolves? How many nights had he himself spent, trapped in memories of Azog, the pale Orc's white skin painted red with the blood of Thror? This was undoubtedly her first taste of battle. Of course she was frightened.

And freezing.

He still wore his fur-lined cloak. Combined with his bedroll and the banked heat of the nearby fire, they kept him quite comfortable in the cold nights.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, shrugged the cloak off, and laid it over the hobbit maiden as gently as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her.

Slowly, her trembling stilled and her face softened. She curled one hand around the cloak's thick fur collar.

Thorin tilted his head to the side. The softly dancing light of the fire played over her pert nose and rounded cheeks. Her long lashes cast delicate shadows over her skin.

Abruptly, Thorin rose and strode back to his now-chilled bedroll. He slithered inside and edged closer to the fire. It was going to be a cold night.

Just one, though. The girl would be gone in the morning.

#

**Author's Note: So, did you like it? It's a real challenge playing around in Thorin's head. He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma.**

**Thank you for all of your comments. They keep my energy flowing!**


	7. Chapter 7

When Bell woke, many of the Dwarves were still sleeping, but two of them, the large one with red beard that hung in a massive braid across his chest, and another that she recognized as Gloin, were tending to a pan of sausages over the fire.

Bell sat up gingerly. Her body ached in places she hadn't thought were capable of hurting. Every step of her journey throbbed up her legs. Her shoulder and side probably wore bruises from the rocks she'd slept on.

She raised a hand to her pounding head. Her fingers caught in tangled curls. Somewhere along the road, she'd lost her ribbon and now the ringlets had taken flight. They twisted and clung together like thistledown. What a mess. Combing it all out would be a painful process.

For the moment, she gathered the long strands together and twisted most of it into a knot at the base of her neck. It wasn't a good solution, but it would have to be enough if she was going to avoid making herself more attractive to wolves by dragging her hair through sausage grease.

Bell forced herself to her feet. The heavy warmth that had surrounded her slipped free and landed in a pile on the ground. She blinked. It was a cloak, and not Hamfast's. The black wool had a fine weave and it was lined with fur. Bell picked it up and shook off the dirt. The scent of musk and earth clung to the fabric.

She knew that smell now. Thorin. Her face flushed. He shouldn't have had to give up his cloak for her. If she froze, it was her own fault for not being prepared.

Glancing among the sleeping forms of the Dwarves, she found him, his silver-streaked black hair stark in the gray light of early morning. On silent feet, she slipped among the sleepers, feeling the gaze of the two Dwarves cooking breakfast following her.

Pausing by Thorin's side, she set the cloak down next to his outstretched hand. It lay relaxed in sleep. Heavy calluses ran along the sides of his thumb and index finger, and over the ridges of his palms. Not how she had imagined the hands of a king.

But Thorin wasn't a king like the ones who sat on thrones of marble and gold in tales and legends. He was a king who threw axes with the precision and deadliness of a woodsman, and well did she have reason to be glad of it.

His fingers twitched and he shifted his weight with a muffled grunt.

Bell quickly backed away.

Unsure what else to do, she approached the cooks. "Can I help?" she asked in a low whisper.

Gloin poked the big Dwarf. "Bombur, where'd you put the kettle?"

"I put it over by the ponies last night."

"Well, go fill it and let's get some tea going." Gloin turned his attention to Bell. "I assume you know how to fry sausages?"

"I do."

"Then you can take over for Bombur."

Bell settled herself on a rock that had been rolled up close to the fire pit and took the stick Bombur was using to roll the links.

"What're you going to do?" the large Dwarf asked Gloin.

"I'm going to roust these laggards out of their beds, that's what."

Bell focused her attention on her cooking. If she didn't look at the Dwarves, she didn't have to think about what would happen when it was time to depart.

Thorin, she knew, had every intention of sending her back to Hobbiton. It was the wise decision. She was less than useless here. Her only real skill that might have any bearing on the task at hand was a certain ability to be stealthy, but Bilbo was already the designated burglar, and even if the Dwarves had been so inclined to take on a second as insurance should anything go wrong with the first, the idea of them being willing to split their treasure into _fifteen_ equal shares was laughable.

A part of her still longed to see what lay ahead, but another part told her this was adventure enough. She hurt. She was exhausted. She'd been set upon by a wolf and nearly killed, and she had only been gone for one day.

But what a day it had been. She's seen more places and experienced more new things in that one day than she might ever have known in her lifetime.

One by one the Dwarves came to take sausages. Some muttered 'thank you's. Others smiled shyly, and still others said nothing at all. The two young, brash Dwarves tried to engage her in conversation, but she deftly avoided being drawn further in than, "Yes, it's a nice morning, but it does look like rain."

Bilbo hovered nearby, pacing in little loops. If she looked at him too long, he made her dizzy.

The low din of conversation went silent when Thorin came to take his share of the sausage and a mug of the hot tea Bombur had steeped. Bell skewered the last of the links and placed it on his plate.

He said nothing, nor did he move.

Bell nibbled on her lip and glanced up from beneath her lashes. "Good morning?"

Thorin turned away. "Has anyone seen Gandalf?"

A quick survey revealed that Gandalf had been missing since before Gloin rose, and he'd been the first Dwarf up and about.

Thorin looked back over his shoulder at Bell. "When the wizard returns, we'll be on our way. You should be ready to turn back to Hobbiton by then."

"I don't suppose . . ." Bell began.

"Suppose what?"

That she could continue along with them. See the Misty Mountains. Hear the burbling of a different river than the one that ran through the Shire.

No. That was selfish. If she went along with them, she'd be putting them at risk. She'd already proved herself a liability. What if one of the Dwarves had been injured in coming to her rescue? It wasn't fair to them.

"Nothing," she said, rising with the empty frying pan. "I'll just find somewhere to wash this." She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "Good morning."

#

Thorin watched Bell wander off towards the stream. She'd been about to ask to stay. He could see it behind her eyes.

Grateful that she'd thought better of it and spared him the necessity of argument, he bit into his sausage. The skin was crisp, with no charring. He couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted a sausage that wasn't burnt.

Kili and Fili appeared at his sides. "You're really going to send the girl back, Uncle?" asked Fili. "All alone in the wilderness?"

Thorin set the remaining end of his sausage on his plate and downed the tea, wincing as it burned down his throat. "She made it this far in one piece," he said. "And most of the way from Bree at night. She should be safe enough in daylight."

"I'm not so certain of that," said Gandalf, stepping out from the trees.

"What do you mean?" asked Thorin. "Where have you been?"

"Looking behind." The wizard frowned. "I think you might want to come and see this."

Thorin handed his plate and mug to Kili, who glared at them and passed them straight off to Bifur.

Gandalf led the way into the underbrush. The wolf lay where it had fallen. Two ravens, which had been pecking at the corpse, hopped away, cawing at the approaching Dwarves.

"You see?" said Gandalf.

"A dead wolf? Of course I see it. What else would I expect to see after killing it myself?"

"Look more closely. There, around its neck."

Thorin approached the dead animal. Already the reek of death clung to it. Blood matted the creature's thick coat. At first glance, there was nothing unusual to see, but when Thorin knelt and swept the heavy fur back, he found a thin leather cord looped around the beast's neck, a long fang dangling from its center.

His lips thinned and he looked up at the wizard. "The beast didn't put this on itself."

"No," the wizard agreed. "It did not. I've scouted farther back along the trail. There are tracks I do not like. More wolves and, while I cannot be certain, I believe that there were wargs among them."

Thorin's hand balled into a fist. "Wargs, and wolves bearing the mark of Orcs." He yanked the cord, snapping it in two. The fang pressed cold against his palm. A knot twisted in his gut. "This part of the world was supposed to be safe. You said it yourself, Gandalf."

"And so I believed it. It would appear I may have been mistaken."

The rest of the Dwarves had gathered close, along with Bilbo who was looking quite pale indeed.

"We shouldn't delay, Thorin," said Balin. "Let's be off before they have a chance to catch our scent."

Thorin closed his eyes. So much for sending Mister Baggins' housekeeper back the way she'd come. Not if there were wargs in the area. Wolves would wait for the cover of night to attack, but wargs cared little for such things. He wouldn't be responsible for sending a woman into their midst, even if it meant being saddled with an extra mouth to feed and one more inexperienced traveler to wrangle, at least as far as a town or an outpost, or really any place with four safe walls.

Blast hobbits and their foibles. Now he was stuck with another, a _woman_ at that, and all for want of a handkerchief.

Thorin blew out a slow exhalation and forced his shoulders to relax. What must be must be. He didn't have to like it.

He rose and glanced among the gathered crowd, but the pale-haired hobbit lass was not among them.

Bilbo must have noticed, too. He raised one hand, as if asking for permission to speak. "Where is Bell?"


	8. Chapter 8

Bell knelt beside a small stream, scrubbing the frying pan with a handful of moss she'd plucked from the side of a tree. She'd have a preferred a clean dishrag, not to mention some hot water, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances.

The water was frigid and her fingers were red with cold. She scrubbed perhaps harder than was strictly necessary. Frustration and disappointment washed over her in waves, and it was easier to channel them through industry than submit to the temptation to cry.

A rabbit hopped up to the bank on the far side of the river and dipped its head to drink. It kept its head angled so that Bell was in clear view. She slowed her motions so as not to startle the creature. It had long brown ears and a lean body, different from the smaller, fluffier sort to be found around Hobbiton. The whiskers on its nose twitched and it scrubbed at their base with its front paws.

A loud crashing rose up from the forest, and a chorus of shouting voices. The rabbit darted away, kicking up dirt behind it.

Bell's jumped to her feet, heart racing. She spun to face the racket, hefting the pan with both hands like an axe.

Thorin Oakenshield burst out of the underbrush, with what looked like the entire company of Dwarves, along with Bilbo and Gandalf, at his heels. He wore a thunderous expression. Dori, Nori, and Ori stood lookout behind and on either side, their weapons drawn.

Bell took an involuntary step backwards and raised the pan higher. "Whatever is the matter?"

Thorin's gaze rested on her, taking in her defensive stance. When his eyes turned to the frying pan, she steeled herself for a scathing remark, but it did not come.

"There's been a change of plan," he said through his teeth. "You're coming with us."

He turned to the Dwarves. "Strike the camp. Fili and Kili, put out the fire. Oin and Gloin, see about disguising our tracks. Dwalin, find Miss Goodchild a pony. Rearrange some of the saddlebags if necessary. Hurry now. I want us gone in less than ten minutes."

Slowly, Bell let the frying pan drop until it dangled from fingers gone numb, not only from the stream, but Thorin's abrupt about-face. She hadn't even asked to go on.

She jogged after Thorin who had turned back towards the camp. "Mister Oakenshield?"

He didn't pause, so she laid her fingers on his arm. The Dwarf froze.

"What's happened?" she asked, her voice low.

Thorin glared down his arm at her. "Suffice to say, the road back is no longer safe. You'll get your wish, it seems. Hammer and stone, pray we don't suffer for it."

He strode off, his booted feet hitting the ground hard.

Dwalin cleared his throat. "Best not bother him now, Miss. He'll calm down, given time."

"I don't understand what I did to upset him."

Dwalin shrugged. "He has his plans for how things should be. When things don't go according to those plans it can make him a bit . . . testy. Come along. Let's find you a pony who'll be gentle to you. I don't expect you've ridden before."

#

It all happened so fast, Bell could hardly process it. She should be halfway back to Bree by now, but instead she was perched on top of a furry pony by the name of Agnes, wedged between two packs filled with food and cooking equipment. The frying pan was tied on her right side and its handle kept insisting on jabbing her between the ribs.

To make things even more unpleasant, the clouds that had been gathering since the day she left Hobbiton decided it was time to let loose a deluge. It drenched the forest, and the company, in a steady rain that left her cold, wet, and shivering. Hamfast's generously offered cloak had kept her dry only a short while before it was soaked through. Wet curls clung to her face and her neck.

Bilbo rode beside her. He sneezed, pulled out his handkerchief, and dabbed at his nose.

Bell tried to smile. "I knew you'd be wanting that, Mister Baggins."

Bilbo shook his head with a little laugh. "I think out in the wide world it might be safe to call me just Bilbo. It would be nice to hear someone say my name. Most of the time I'm just, _the Hobbit_, or _the Burglar_, and that's when they think to call me anything at all."

"Bilbo, then," Bell agreed, although the name felt strange coming off her tongue.

"I'm grateful for the handkerchief, I must say." Bilbo pulled another piece of fabric out of a different pocket. It was ratty and of a made of a scratchy looking weave. "Bofur gave me this," he said, dangling the fabric between thumb and forefinger with a look of distaste. "It was kind of him, of course," he said, "given that I appear to be allergic to the ponies."

"Your nose would be red as a cherry in an hour if you were to use that thing."

"Mmm," Bilbo nodded. "Still, Bell, you shouldn't have come. I would never have asked it of you. What must your father be thinking? If you were my child, I'd be frantic by now."

Bell tried to ignore the guilty twinge that constricted her throat. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I realize now that it was foolish. Selfish. I don't know how I'll ever pay him back for what he must be suffering."

Bilbo cocked his head. The puddle that had formed in the brim of his hood spilled over the side and splattered off his pony's shoulder. "Would you do things differently? If you could start this all over again?"

Bell pondered, swaying with Agnes' gentle rocking motion. "No," she replied, honestly. "I don't think I would. I'm not even sure I really _chose_ at all. I just did what seemed right."

Her eyes fell on a patch of blackberry briars. "Go on ahead," she said. "I'll catch up in a minute."

#

All afternoon the rain fell. Mud clung to the ponies' withers and dappled their sides, and everyone's legs, from where it had been kicked up. Bell's toes itched, and her skirt, which thankfully was quite full, as she'd had to tuck it under her legs for modesty's sake, was bunched and uncomfortable.

"Gandalf," one of the Dwarves up the line said, "can't you do something about this rain?"

"No, I cannot. It is raining, and will continue to rain until the rain is done." Even the wizard sounded cranky.

Bofur, who was riding just ahead of Bell, tilted his face towards the sky. "Well, I was due for a bath, I suppose," he said. "Come on, lads, let's have a song!"

He cleared his throat and began:

_"To Erebor the Dwarves they march_

_Through wind and sleet and rain._

_We will retake our rightful halls_

_When Smaug, the Dread, lies slain!"_

"That's not a real song," Nori complained. "Not one we all can sing."

"Then pick another, or make up your own verse," Bofur replied, glancing back at Bell with a twinkle in his eye. "I think it's the start of quite a good tale."

Someone farther ahead began another tune, and soon all the Dwarves were singing along. Their voices wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She could just make out Thorin's voice from up ahead. Although she'd heard it only once before, while hiding under Bilbo's dining room window, she didn't think she'd ever forget it. So rich and warm, she felt like it heated her from the inside out-like spiced winter wine hot from the pan.

Bell closed her eyes and let Agnes do the work of watching their way. Behind her eyelids, she imagined she were back in a comfortable hole, surrounded by a party of Dwarves, and handing round piping hot seed cakes.

The drum of the rain on her hood gradually began to slow, then dwindled into nothing more than a gentle mist.

"I see something up ahead!" called Kili. "With walls!"

"Good," said Thorin. "We need a place to stay for the night. Preferably, dry. Take Fili ahead and scout it out."

The frying pan jabbed Bell again. She sighed. It would be good to be off the ponies.

"Just like home, then, isn't it?" said Bilbo.

Bell raised an eyebrow and stared at him. Had the travel addled his wits?

His solemn face broke into a sideways grin. "Only joking! Come on, let's see what the Dwarves have found for our lodging."

#

**Author's Note: Sorry for the short-ish chapter, but I didn't want to leave it on another cliffhanger! Coming up for your reading pleasure-trolls.**

**I'm excited that so many people are enjoying this little tale. There are a few scenes upcoming that I can see perfectly in my head and I just can't wait to write them, but there will be no skipping ahead in this telling. We get there when we get there, and not before.**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin reined his pony to a halt at the edge of the clearing and frowned. Yes, there were walls, but not much more. A farmhouse and two outbuildings had stood in this spot, but their roofs were mostly gone. What remained of them was blackened with char.

He glanced skyward. While the rain had ceased for the moment, the clouds remained an ominous steel gray.

Fili and Kili came out from inside the ruins of the farmhouse. "There's no one here," said Kili. "And not much else but debris."

Of course. For a brief moment, he'd entertained the thought that there would be a family he could leave the hobbit lass with, but fate had decided long ago that nothing would be easy for Thorin Oakenshield. If there was a way to throw some obstacle or calamity in his path, the world would find a way to do it.

His gaze sought out the girl. She sat on her pony beside Bilbo, the hood of her cloak pushed back. Her hair was a bedraggled mess and she shifted gingerly as if the long day's ride pained her, but while he watched, she shared a smile and a laugh with Mister Baggins. Despite the chill, there were patches of red on her pale cheeks.

Thorin grudgingly admitted to himself that he was surprised. He'd expected to be slowed by her presence, bothered by complaints about anything from exhaustion, to the weather, to the general state of cleanliness among a company of traveling Dwarves. Instead, she said next to nothing, save to Bilbo, and the one time she'd fallen behind, she'd reappeared so quickly Thorin hadn't had time to call the rest to a halt to wait for her.

Making up his mind, Thorin dismounted and led the pony towards an old bit of fence where Fili and Kili had hitched their own mounts. "We'll camp here," he said. "It might not be much, but it's better than nothing."

While the company set about unloading the ponies, Thorin stepped through the empty doorframe into the abandoned farmhouse. Piles of broken furniture, charred and sodden, lined the walls. The smell of the place conjured memories of Dale after Smaug's blazing attack on Erebor. Whatever had happened here happened recently.

A sense of unease settled over him like a heavy fog. He felt as if his very bones itched.

Dori stuck his head in the door. "We've scouted around the edges of the clearing. There's no sign that anything's been through for some time."

Thorin forced the feeling of discomfort down. He wouldn't be put off from available shelter by memories. "Good. Get the lads to see what sort of a roof we can cobble together."

"Right. Some of the boys have already got a campfire going. There should be hot tea soon." Dori backed his way out.

As soon as Dori was gone, Gandalf appeared in the doorway. "I think this is a mistake, Thorin."

"It's coming up on night, we're soaked through, and this is the most shelter we've seen since we left Bree."

Gandalf came all the way in, looming over Thorin. "Something untoward happened here. I don't like the feel of it. You should move on."

Thorin's jaw clenched. The wizard was using his best _I am right and you are a foolish Dwarf_ voice. As if he were nothing more than a child playing at leadership.

Well, Gandalf might be taller and he might be a wizard, but he was _not_ the leader of this company.

Thorin puffed out his chest and pulled back his shoulders, making himself as large as he could. "I do not answer to you, Gandalf the Grey. I've said we will spend the night in this place and spend it we will."

Gandalf straightened his back and gave an affronted snort. "Then you are a fool, Thorin Oakenshield, and I will not be a party to it."

Slamming the butt of his staff into the dirt, Gandalf turned and strode for the door in a swirl of robes.

Bell stepped through just as Gandalf reached the portal. With a startled exclamation, she stepped back to avoid being trampled, then watched the wizard's swiftly departing back.

Thorin rubbed his forehead where a headache was swiftly forming. His body was tense. Anger boiled beneath his skin.

Bell turned back to him. "Thorin?"

"What do you want?" This wasn't the time. All he wanted was a few moments' peace to gather himself. He knew his own temper and didn't trust himself not to snap.

"Dori thought you might want some tea? I've brought you a mug."

Thorin sighed and forced his fist to unclench. Tea was probably a good idea. He was cold and cranky, and some warmth might go a good way towards restoring his equanimity.

"Yes," he said. "Thank you."

Bell picked her way through the scattered debris until she was close enough to give him the mug. The top of her head only came up to the base of his chin. It felt strange to look so far down at someone. He was tall enough for a Dwarf, but most of those did not come so small as hobbits, unless they were younglings. After Gandalf, the difference was decidedly pleasant. Thorin did not like feeling small. It didn't agree with his understanding of himself.

Thorin took the mug. The earthenware vessel was warm and steam rose in delicate swirls. He inhaled a long whiff. "This smells delicious," he said, surprised at the sweet undertones. He was used to a strong brew.

"I found some ingredients along the trail while we were riding," Bell said. "You seemed a bit . . . perturbed this morning. This tea is good for helping to relax. I thought you might like to try it." She turned her blue eyes to his face. "A bit of a peace offering, I suppose."

Thorin grunted. Peace offering, indeed. He must have been harsher than he'd intended if she felt the need for a peace offering. The wargs weren't her fault.

He took a sip. The flavor hit his tongue with a sharp bite that quickly shifted to a subtle, sweet tang. The tense muscles at the base of his neck released slightly. The pulsing throb behind his brows subsided. "This is very good," he said.

Bell looked down at her hands, a soft flush rising up her cheeks.

Thorin followed her glance and froze. There were red scratches on the backs of both hands. Fresh. Some had scabbed over, but others still weeped slightly.

He took her fingers with his free hand and lifted her hand up between them.

The movement startled him. He'd had no intention to touch her, and no invitation. Her skin was chilled, but he could feel the warm pulse of her blood beneath the pads of her fingertips. It somehow made her feel more real. A living, breathing woman, instead of an abstract puzzle he didn't know what to do with.

"What happened to your hands?"

Bell pulled her hand away and hid it behind her back. "Nothing, really," she said. "Just a few scratches. I'm fine."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. The anger he'd felt when Gandalf stalked off had ebbed to a low simmer. "Go and see Ori," he said. "He has some salves that should help them heal faster."

Bell bobbed a nervous curtsey and headed back towards the door.

Thorin took another sip of the tea. Familiar, but he couldn't place the flavor. "Bell," he called.

She paused and glanced back over her shoulder.

"What kind of tea is this?"

Her gaze flickered guiltily to her hands, then back to him.

"Blackberry."

#

Helping with the cooking had a side benefit, Bell discovered. So much time spent hovering by the fire dried her clothing much faster than she'd expected it would.

Her skirt, on the other hand, was proving to be more than a bit of a nuisance. When you lived in a world of nicely trimmed lawns, tidy hobbit holes, and nothing more dangerous in the roadway than a rambunctious child, skirts were all well and good.

In the forest, however, they got caught in the underbrush, sodden with mud, made it quite uncomfortable to ride a pony, and spent far too much time trying to drape into the fire. It got to the point she gathered most of the excess fabric together and tied it in a knot just beneath one knee. This revealed far more of her leg than she was comfortable with, but at least she wasn't likely to set herself on fire.

Bilbo had gone off a while back to deliver dinner to Fili and Kili, who were watching over the ponies. Bifur and Bofur had found a likely paddock a little further away from camp with good grazing, so they'd moved the whole herd of them.

The fire settled with a crackle and shower of sparks.

"Has everyone had enough?" she asked. "Can I start cleaning this up?"

"You've done enough tonight," said Bombur, levering himself off the stump he was sitting on. "I'll do the cleaning."

Bell stepped aside gratefully. To be perfectly honest, she was tired and she ached dreadfully.

Thorin stood a little apart from the rest, staring out into the darkness. Bell approached him cautiously. "Thorin? Are you done with your plate?"

"Hmm?" he said. "Oh, yes, thank you."

He looked preoccupied. His dark eyebrows drew close together in the center, raising deep furrows between them.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly, squinting into the trees. "I don't know," he said. "I just feel . . ."

Fili burst into the firelight, a wild look in his eyes. "Trolls!" he shouted. "They've got the ponies. And Bilbo."

The Dwarves surged to their feet, scrambling for weapons.

All sensation fled from Bell's limbs, immobilizing her.

"Hurry," Fili urged. "Follow me."

Trolls. Had _Bilbo_? Bell's momentary paralysis fled. She fumbled at her belt for the knife.

A wave of Dwarves rushed past.

She took only one step before Thorin turned back and pierced her with his flashing dark eyes. "You," he growled, jabbing a finger towards her chest. "Stay."

_Stay_? She wasn't a puppy to be ordered about.

Before Bell could draw breath to protest, Thorin was gone, racing after the rest, sword and axe in hand.

She hesitated. Wasn't this exactly why she told herself she shouldn't come? In face of danger, what possible use could she be? The Dwarves were well armed and capable fighters. Surely they could handle trolls.

But how many trolls? Fili hadn't said. What if it was more than a few? What if any of the Dwarves were hurt, and she could have done something-_anything_-to prevent it?

Bell bit down hard on a curved knuckle and discovered she was shaking.

_Bell Goodchild, you will not be a coward, but don't you go being a fool either_. She couldn't be any help in a fair fight, not untrained and armed with a knife no longer than her hand, but she wouldn't leave the rest to an unknown fate.

Pulling her hood up to hide her pale hair, she followed after the Dwarves.

#

**Author's Note: I apologize if I haven't got the Thorin/Gandalf argument exactly as it was in the film. I'm afraid I haven't seen it enough times to have everything down perfectly. So in this case, and probably others, I'll take my own dramatic license with some things. Besides, the movie's different from the book anyways. =)**

**Wow! Almost 100 comments! I'm honored and humbled. Thank you all for your support!**


	10. Chapter 10

Sounds of battle echoed through the dark woods. The flickering light of a fire guided Bell towards the fracas. She approached cautiously, careful to make no sound.

She ducked down behind a fallen tree and edged closer until she could go no further without being seen, then inched upward until she could peer out at the battle.

_Stars_! Those were trolls? They were so _big_. Three massive, thick-hided creatures, laying about among the Dwarves with sticks and what looked to be a ladle taller than herself.

Her fingers curled in the bark of the tree. There was so much happening she couldn't take it all in. Kili firing off arrows. Dwalin slamming his mace onto bare troll toes. Ori, armed with nothing more than a slingshot, aiming for their eyes.

One of the trolls picked up Bifur and dangled him upside down.

Thorin appeared from the thick of the melee. He slashed the troll's heel, then leapt aside when it dropped Bifur. Thorin narrowly avoided the troll's swinging fist and deftly braced the falling Dwarf's shoulders so that he landed feet-first rather than breaking his neck.

Bell sucked in a breath.

The Dwarves ducked beneath blows, wove between legs as broad as tree trunks, hacking and slashing. How they managed to avoid hitting each other, she couldn't fathom. It was almost beautiful in its complexity.

For a little while, she thought maybe the battle might be swaying in the Dwarves' favor, but the trolls were simply too big. It was like watching a battle between a Man and a swarm of bees. They might sting, but no more. Not unless they could get one on the ground where they could reach its vitals.

Ori had the right idea. Bell ducked down behind the tree and fumbled on the ground for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers found a stone the size of her fist.

She squeezed her eyes shut, blew out three quick, sharp breaths to gather her courage, and surged to her feet, ready to launch her missile.

The trolls stood opposite a long line of Dwarves. They faced each other across the clearing, Bell off to the side, out of either of their lines of sight. The trolls held something squirming between them. Bell dropped down again and maneuvered closer to the Dwarves. She glanced out and saw what the trolls had captured. Bilbo.

"Lay down your weapons, or we'll tear his arms off," one of the trolls growled.

Her heart thudded so hard she could feel it against her breastbone. She caught a glimpse of Thorin's face. Frustration and impotent rage raced across it.

_Oh, Thorin, do what he says_.

But what if he didn't? What if he wouldn't set down his pride to save Bilbo?

Bell didn't want to doubt him. He seemed to be an honorable man, but his fits of temper were fickle and she did not know him well enough to rely on him humbling himself before a foe.

Her fingers tightened on the stone. If he hesitated, she'd have to try to save Bilbo herself. She couldn't watch him torn limb from limb. She couldn't.

Sick dread churned in her belly. The moment stretched like cold molasses.

With a sharp motion, Thorin thrust his sword away.

Bell sucked in air, her head spinning. Her legs threatened to give out, so she leaned against the rough tree trunk and slid down it until she reached the ground, then laid her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins, trembling.

The sounds that rose from the clearing were terrifying. Trolls laughing and bantering about the first good meal in weeks. Dwarves shouting, sometimes in protest, sometimes in pain.

Bell couldn't bring herself to watch. Could she have done something different? Would joining the fray have made a difference? Were they all going to die now? Wherever was Gandalf? Surely a wizard would be able to do something. They had to do something more important than make pretty fireworks, didn't they?

Eventually, the sounds of struggle faded. Whatever the trolls were doing, it appeared it was done, at least for the moment.

Bell lifted her head. What a fine coward she was. What would her Took-ish ancestors have thought to see her now, cowering like a kitten when a lynx was what was wanted?

This wouldn't do. Not knowing what was happening had to be worse than knowing, didn't it? She hadn't heard any shrieks among the shouting. Surely they were still alive, at least.

Even more carefully than when she'd approached before, Bell levered herself up. She didn't dare risk any sounds that might alert the trolls to her presence.

The Dwarves had been separated into two groups. One group had been tied hand and foot, and the trolls were lashing them one by one to a thick branch that had been whittled free of bark and bore a disturbing resemblance to a spit. The rest were piled against a gnarled tree root, stuffed into burlap sacks tied at the neck.

She spotted Bilbo in that pile, along with Fili, Kili, Balin, Oin, and, at the far back, directly against the root, Thorin Oakenshield. For the moment, the trolls ignored the bagged Dwarves, their attention on the rest, who it appeared were to replace the ponies as the main course for the night.

One little hobbit with a rock and knife wasn't going to be able to save the spitted Dwarves, but a hobbit with a knife just might be able to do something for the rest.

Bell skirted around to the far side of the clearing. The ponies snorted and nickered as she passed near them. She bit her lip and hurried on, hoping the trolls would take no notice.

She drew near to the back of the gnarled tree and its protruding root. The crackle of the fire intensified.

"Pick up that lot and put them over the fire," said a troll. "Make sure to put the spit on the higher poles. I don't want them to cook too fast. The flavor's better if you roast them slow-like."

A chorus of shouts rose up.

Bell used the cover of their racket to scamper the last few steps to the back of the root. She leaned up against it, panting. When she'd caught her breath, she scooted just far enough that she could see Thorin's dark hair and the edge of his sack draping from his broad shoulder.

"Thorin," she hissed as quietly as she could, "it's Bell."

His body stiffened at the sound of her voice, but he didn't turn his head.

Bell pulled out her knife and slipped it through the heavy threads of the sack. The sound of the fabric tearing was louder than she'd imagined. She'd have to move slowly if she wanted to avoid being heard.

Slowly, so slowly, she worked the knife up the back of the sack towards Thorin's neck. His body shielded her from the trolls' sight. Her hands shook so hard she was afraid she'd slip and accidentally stab him. His hair hung over the sack, making it impossible to see what she was about. With the hand closer to the tree root, she brushed it aside. The smell of him rushed over her. His body heat radiated up from him, warming her.

Vaguely, she was aware that Bilbo was talking, but she couldn't spare the attention to listen.

At last, she reached the top of the sack. It was threaded with a rope that was tight against Thorin's neck. "Don't move," she whispered.

She slid the knife between the rope and his skin, angling it so that it did not dig in and cut him. If she yanked, she'd choke him. Instead, she sawed. It was a painfully slow process but, finally, the rope gave. The sack did not fall, since Thorin was partly reclined, but he was nearly free.

"Hands," he said, so quietly Bell felt it more than heard it. A low rumble that shivered through her.

They were tied behind him. Bell set about cutting through the rope, able to move a little bit faster than on the rope around Thorin's neck.

At last, the last strand snapped. She was about to pull her hands back when one of Thorin's caught her fingers and squeezed.

Then, one more word. "Weapon."

Bell pressed his fingers in response, and backed away. The Dwarves' weapons were piled near the ponies. She snuck through the trees, trying to keep something between herself and the animals, for fear of another clamor.

"I haven't got parasites!" yelled a Dwarven voice. Kili, Bell thought. _Parasites? What under the stars was he talking about?_

Numerous voices joined in the shouting. Bell stopped listening to what they were saying. This was a chance.

She sped forward and grabbed the first thing she reached, a long-handled axe half as tall as herself.

Scuttling back under the cover of the noise, she returned to her hiding place behind Thorin. "Take this," she whispered, pressing the handle into his hand. "I'll see who else I can reach."

Unfortunately, none of the other Dwarves was as easily accessible. Balin lay nearby, but apart from the rest. Bell didn't think she could get close to him without being seen. Maybe Oin, on the far side of the pile.

While she was making up her mind, Gandalf's voice burst out, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "The dawn take you all!"

There was a crack and blinding flash of light. She flung her arm up in front of her face to block the glare, but her eyes quickly adjusted.

The trolls froze. Their skin hardened. _Petrified_.

Bell stifled a hysterical sob. She'd never been so happy to see another soul in all her life.

Thorin surged to his feet, upending Kili who had been lying across his legs. The sack fell at Thorin's feet. "Gandalf!" he called, gesturing to the Dwarves on the spit. "Help me get them down."

Bell stepped out of her hiding place and, without having to be afraid of making a sound, she sawed through Kili's sack. Once he was free, he gathered his own blades from the pile and helped her free the rest of the bagged Dwarves.

They gathered around, slapping each other on the back, exchanging relieved embraces. Fili picked Bell up in a bear hug and swung her around so that her feet flew out behind her, then planted kisses on each of her cheeks.

She sputtered and smiled and was passed from Dwarf to Dwarf in the general celebration of still being alive. Gloin pumped her hand, for all purposes as if it were the handle of a water-spout, then spun her away.

Bell thudded off a broad chest, and nearly fell backwards, but quick hands grabbed her by the arms. She looked up and found Thorin staring down at her with an inscrutable expression. Her laughter faded into nothingness.

"I told you to stay put," said Thorin. His fingers dug into her arms, almost painfully.

"You did," she said, tilting up her chin.

"It was foolish of you to come after us. You could have been killed."

"You could all have been killed." Bell trembled under his hard stare, but she was not going to apologize for trying to save them. "What if Gandalf hadn't come? What then? I freed you, Thorin. I might have freed more. Given you a chance to save yourselves."

The corner of Thorin's lips twitched upward. "You did, at that. There's more to you than meets the eye, Bell Goodchild. I am in your debt."

Bell dug her toes into the dirt. Everyone was watching her again. Why did they keep _doing_ that?

"It was nothing."

Thorin shook his head, then pulled her close and gave her a short squeeze. "It was everything," he said, so quietly none of the others could hear, his lips a breath away from her ear.

Bell stopped breathing. Time stilled and all she knew was the thud of her pulse and the feel of the Dwarf king's arms around her.

And then he was gone, replaced by Dwalin giving her a congratulatory pounding on the back so hard she thought he might have crushed her lungs.

#

**Author's Note: Phew! That chapter was challenging to write. I've been looking forward to it with trepidation.**

**On the plus side, I went and saw the film again today. There are so many interesting details to catch if you watch around the edges, if you know what I mean. Not necessarily who is talking and in the center of the frame. So much rich world-building and subtle detail. I took notes. =)**

**Looking forward to the next chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

Thorin backed away from the merriment. He was grateful to still be in one piece, but severely discomfited by the way it all had played out. He didn't think he wanted to know how the trolls had gotten their hands on the ponies, past his nephews, without them raising an alarm _before_ their burglar was already caught.

He made his way to the pile of weaponry and dug through it until he found his own axe and sword. The smaller axe that Bell had given him was Nori's. That one he laid among the rest. The lads would gather their things soon enough. Let them have their moment of celebration. It hurt no one and gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.

A shudder ran through him. Being trussed up and stuffed in a sack was deeply humiliating, but worse was the feeling of utter impotence. When Bell had appeared behind him, despair and hope had shot through his veins like ice and fire. If she could free him, then perhaps there was a chance to save the rest, but if she were discovered it would be one more life added to his tally of failure.

And then Bilbo, with his talk of skinning and _parasites_ . . .

Hobbits were decidedly odd creatures. Bumbling and inept in the wild, yet surprisingly stout and loyal. Bell could have fled-should have fled-yet she chose to risk her life to save his own.

No, it hadn't mattered in the end, thanks to Gandalf's timely return, but they hadn't known it at the time.

He leaned one arm up against a tree and glanced back at the company. Kili stood with one arm draped around Bell's shoulder, gesturing broadly with his free hand. Bell was smiling, but something in the crease at the corner of her eye told Thorin she wasn't entirely comfortable with his nephew's casual nearness.

Thorin straightened, ready to return and break up the celebration. It was all well and good to be familiar in the rush of relief after a brush with death, but Kili was taking it too far.

"Well, Thorin," said Gandalf, walking over from the stone trolls, which he had been examining. "It would appear to be a good thing that I returned sooner than I had planned."

Thorin dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Your intervention was certainly timely."

"I hate to say, 'I told you so,'" said Gandalf, scratching at his chin, "but perhaps next time you might consider listening to advice when it is given."

Thorin felt his hackles rise, but forced himself to bite back any complaint at being lectured. "You were right this time," he acknowledged. He gave a short, befuddled laugh. "Your burglar has some interesting notions. Next time you're about to be eaten, try not to bring a hobbit along to give tips on proper fileting technique."

"Mister Baggins had the sense to play for time," Gandalf replied. "What interests me is how is it that you were already freed when I arrived?"

Thorin's gaze swept back to the company. Bell appeared to have escaped from Kili. She nodded at Bilbo, and slipped away from the group.

The corner of Thorin's lips twitched in a smile.

"That was Miss Goodchild," he said. "I know you say that Mister Baggins has more to him than it appears, but if I had to choose a burglar at this moment, it might well be Bell. She's silent when she chooses and seems to have more than a little bit of good sense."

"But you would not make that choice." Gandalf shook his head. "I know you, Thorin Oakenshield. You wouldn't send a woman into the dragon's lair. Besides, weren't you planning to deposit her with the first honest folks we come across?"

"Hmm," Thorin nodded. His mind flashed to the moment when he'd embraced her to thank her for his rescue. She was so small, he'd hardly expected to feel her, but she had filled his arms comfortably. Her wild hair caught in his beard and tickled his chin, and she'd smelled like apple blossoms.

"Not so certain?"

Thorin pulled back his shoulders. "I might feel better with her where I can keep an eye on her."

Gandalf raised one eyebrow.

"For her protection," Thorin continued, raising his hand to protest any further implication Gandalf might be making. "She's a long way from home."

"Mmm." Gandalf shifted his staff from one hand to the other. "Well, if you're feeling a bit more receptive to advice, let me give you some unasked for. We should make for Rivendell. Lord Elrond could help you to read that map."

#

Bell detached herself from the swarm of Dwarves. Their exuberance was exhausting. She settled herself in the mossy grass. After the long night full of fear and no rest, she thought she might never be able to get back up. All she wanted to do was lie down, close her eyes, and pretend she'd never heard of trolls.

It occurred to her that she hadn't seen Thorin since he'd vanished so abruptly. A quick glance revealed him on the far side of the clearing speaking with the wizard. His hands were in fists on his waist, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Bell wondered what they were discussing, and dearly hoped it involved some moments of sleep, although the cant of Thorin's head led her to think it was something less pleasant. She massaged her temples. It couldn't be long before a decision of what to do next was made. In the meantime, she'd just stretch out for a moment.

The grass was scratchy against her cheek, and she tried to concentrate on the discomfort. Maybe it would help her keep her eyes open. But the early morning light was too bright, and it hurt her head. Her eyelids slipped shut.

#

Someone shook Bell gently. "Here, lassie, wake up."

Her eyes blinked open. Had she fallen asleep? Oh, how she hoped not.

Balin leaned over her, his white beard dangling down towards her face. "That can't be comfortable," he said.

Bell groaned and sat up. Her muscles protested. "No," she agreed. "Most decidedly not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Don't fret," said Balin, offering her a hand up. "We're all the worse for no sleep last night. Thorin's decided we'll stay back at the farm, at least for a while."

Bell took Balin's hand and let him pull her upright. "Where's everyone gone?"

"Back down to the camp, to get some breakfast going. I stayed behind to keep an eye on you."

"You should have woken me sooner." Bell blinked away grit that had formed in the creases of her eyes. She shivered. "I don't want to be a bother."

"It was Thorin who said to let you rest a bit longer," said Balin. "I'm not one to argue with him. Come on, then. This way."

When they reached the campsite, the smell of freshly cooked bacon washed over Bell and her stomach grumbled loudly. Many of the Dwarves had stripped off their outer clothes and sat on their bedrolls in their heavy-woven undergarments, munching on bacon and apples.

Bofur looked up from the frying pan. "There you are. I saved you both some slices. Had to fight Bombur off with a stick."

Bombur made an unintelligible noise of protest around a mouthful of apple.

Bell took her share, but when she contemplated it, despite the gnawing hunger in her gut, she found herself hard pressed to eat it. She forced herself to nibble, but didn't taste the bacon and hardly knew whether the apple was ripe or not.

When she'd finally finished the food, she looked around at the jumble of Dwarves. Several were snoring now, and the rest, save Bofur, who was putting away the frying pan, were all nestled in their bedrolls.

She sighed. Of all the things she wished she'd thought to bring, a bedroll was foremost.

Someone laid a hand on the small of her back.

Bell jumped. She hadn't heard anyone approach.

"I'm sorry," said Thorin. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Her pulse tried to return to normal, but didn't quite manage it.

Thorin beckoned her to follow, and led off towards one of the ruined outbuildings.

Bell trailed behind. Thorin had removed his cloak and the leather jerkin her normally wore beneath it. It made him look somehow less daunting, although the drape of his dark gray undershirt displayed the strong planes of his back.

"What is it?" she asked. They were far enough from the rest that talking wouldn't wake the others.

Thorin pushed open what remained of the door and gestured inside. His cloak lay on the ground, with an empty saddlebag rolled up for a pillow.

"I thought you might need somewhere to sleep that wasn't bare ground."

Bell took a step back, shaking her head. "Thorin, no. You've already given me your cloak once. Not again. It's not right."

He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Somehow I thought you'd say that. First, it's daytime. I'm not likely to freeze. Second, it's not right for a woman to sleep on the ground while the menfolk have their comforts. Third," he spread his hands wide, "peace offering?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but Thorin silenced her with a raised hand.

Bell eyed the cloak longingly. It looked so warm and soft. The fur lining was as welcoming as a featherbed. "You're sure?" she asked.

"Lie down, Bell. Get some more rest. You've earned it."

Gingerly, she settled herself on the cloak, rested her head on the saddlebag, and wrapped the fur-lined edges around her. It was warm, but she suddenly felt very cold. She drew her knees up to her chest.

Thorin turned away and started back towards the campfire.

"Thorin," Bell said.

He paused and looked back. Sunlight glinted off the silver streaks in his hair that only served to make the rest look darker by comparison. "Yes?"

"I watched the battle," Bell said, digging her fingers into the fur so hard her knuckles went white. "It was . . . terrible."

"It's not something you should have to see."

"How do you do it?" she asked. Once the questions began, she couldn't pull them back. "So much was happening. How do you know where to swing? Where to look for danger? How do you not accidentally kill each other?"

The clash of swords and the roar of the trolls resonated through her skull. She was shaking now. "Anything could have happened."

Thorin was back, squatting down on his heels at her side. "It didn't," he said. His voice was mellow, rich, soothing. "For your questions, all I can say is this. Know yourself. Know your companions. Trust them. Then let instinct take over."

"I froze," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I sat behind a tree and hid. I was a coward."

"You made the right decision for that moment."

Why wouldn't the tremors go away? Why fall apart now, when the crisis was already over?

Bell's teeth chattered. Her stomach felt sick.

Thorin stretched a hand towards her, hesitated, then laid it on her head. "We're all right," he said. "All of us."

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the heavy warmth of his hand. His thumb moved slowly back and forth over her forehead. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, slid over the bridge of her nose, and trailed down her cheek.

A low rumble shivered down Thorin's arm. He was humming-that same tune the Dwarves had sung back in Bilbo's hole, in another life that seemed very much like a dream.

Bell let the tune and the steady stroke of Thorin's thumb lull her. Soon she drifted on the edge of sleep.

She almost didn't notice when he rose, but managed to whisper, "Thorin? Don't tell the others?" It would be too humiliating for everyone to know she'd fallen to pieces.

"Sleep, Bell. Nothing happened here."

Then he was gone.

#

**Author's Note: I continue to be so happy to read your comments. They're little bundles of happy on my computer screen. =)**


	12. Chapter 12

When Bell awoke, the sun was at its zenith in the sky. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. They were scratchy and very likely bloodshot. She couldn't have slept particularly long, but it had helped to restore her equilibrium. To her relief, she no longer felt like a void had been carved out of her insides, and the tremors that had overwhelmed her earlier were gone.

Voices rose up the slope from the direction of the campfire. If the rest were up and about, she wouldn't try to close her eyes and fall back into slumber. She'd been enough of a nuisance already.

Determined to do a better job of pulling her weight, she crawled out of her warm nest, shook out the cloak and folded it, grabbed up the saddlebag, and headed down the incline towards the campfire.

Bilbo spotted her first. "Good morning!" he said, in a voice that felt unnaturally cheery. Bell wondered whether he had been just as distressed by the night's proceedings as she had been.

"Good morning, Mister Baggins."

Dwalin, who had been lashing gear onto the ponies, caught sight of the saddlebag in her hand. "That's where it ran off to!"

"Sorry," Bell said. The crisp grass beneath her feet felt refreshingly alive. She curled her toes in it while she brought Dwalin the bag. "I hope it didn't inconvenience you too much."

"I'm just glad it didn't sprout legs and wander into the woods."

Bell hugged Thorin's cloak to her chest and looked around for the Dwarf king, but he was nowhere to be seen, nor was Gandalf, for that matter.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"Ask my brother," Dwalin said. "I've got the ponies in hand."

Balin stood by the fire, sprinkling it with dirt. The flames sputtered and died beneath it.

"Feeling better after some sleep, lassie?" he asked when she approached.

She nodded. "Much, thank you. How can I help?"

"We've got things mostly done, I'm afraid."

Bell closed her eyes and winced. She'd gone and slept through any chance of being helpful.

"Don't look so downhearted." Balin smiled. "I'm sure there'll be plenty to do come evening. Besides, we're a company. If one of us is down, the rest will step up until there's no more need. We know that person will cover for us when the time comes."

Bell smiled. "Do Dwarves ever tire? In the Shire, all we ever heard of Dwarves was their skill with rock and metal, and their inexhaustible nature."

Balin shook his head. "Oh, we're sturdy, to be certain, but even the sturdiest will falter now and again." He leaned close, with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "Just don't tell anyone I said that. They'll deny it."

Balin glanced down and blinked. "Is that Thorin's cloak?"

"Oh . . . um, yes. I'm afraid it is."

"Well, then you've already seen what I told you. We look out for each other. For better or worse, you're one of the company now."

Bell bit her lip. That made sense. Thorin was watching out for one of his own, nothing more. She ignored the hollow sensation that formed at the base of her throat.

"Thank you, Balin," she said. The old Dwarf's smile was so sweet, she couldn't help but smile back.

A sharp gust of wind blew by. Bell's hair swirled into her face. She pulled it back with her free hand. "What I wouldn't give for comb and a tie," she said.

Balin brightened. "You might ask Fili. With the way that boy preens, I'm sure he's got a comb about him somewhere."

Bell bit back a laugh. Balin was probably right. "I will. Thank you again."

"Here," he said. "I'll put Thorin's cloak with his things."

#

Thorin and Gandalf strode out of the trees into the clearing. Thorin took in the laden ponies, staunched fire, and rows of packs laid out ready for travel. Good lads. It was time to be on their way, and with the cave Gandalf had located to explore, they'd need to be off soon if they were going to cover much distance at all that day.

He'd been right to order the extra rest, he knew, but he felt a strong call to be on their way, almost as if Erebor were whispering his name into the wind that blew down from the peaks of the Misty Mountains.

His eyes sought out Bell and found her standing with Fili and Kili. She was combing out her knotted hair. Kili nabbed the comb from her when she reached a difficult spot in the back and pulled her curls into his hands to work at the tangle. She flushed scarlet.

"Kili!" Thorin called. "Come here."

He hadn't intended his voice to be gruff, but it came out that way. Kili looked over with a look of _what did I do this time_ on his face.

"Now."

Kili let go of Bell's hair and handed back the comb. She ducked her head and stepped away, with a grateful glance Thorin's direction.

"What is it, Uncle?" Kili asked when he drew near.

_You don't go touching women without their permission_, Thorin wanted to say, but instead, he said, "Gather the men. We're moving out."

#

Bell smelled the cave before she saw it. Agnes shifted nervously beneath her. Bell patted the pony's neck. "It's all right, Agnes," she said. "The trolls can't hurt you anymore. Be a brave girl."

She might as well have been talking to herself. Saying the words out loud helped to calm the tremors that wanted to resurface.

They left the ponies near the entrance of the cave and went ahead on foot. Bell wrinkled her nose and tried to remember to breathe through her mouth. The stench was overwhelming.

She followed behind Bilbo under the lip of the cave's mouth. The soil was damp and squishy underfoot.

Bilbo glanced back. "Not quite like a nice hole in Bagshot Row, is it?"

"No, indeed, Mister Baggins."

"Bilbo," he said. "Remember, we're out in the world now."

Bell didn't reply. She concentrated on her footing. The path sloped down steeply. Thick webbing clung to the walls. Gandalf, who was leading the way, knocked low-hanging strands of it aside with his staff.

Bifur and Nori held torches aloft, illuminating the cave with flickering orange light. Golden glimmers sparkled from up ahead.

"Well, that's a pretty sight," said Dori. "I don't much care for trolls' idea of cuisine, but they've got good taste in collectibles."

The Dwarves paused, taking in the treasure heaped in haphazard piles around them.

"Seems a crime to leave it sitting here," said Bofur, "where anyone could come and pick it up."

"Aye," Gloin agreed. "Someone get a shovel."

Gloin's words spurred the Dwarves into a flurry of activity. They gathered gold into trunks, dug holes, and gleefully buried as much as they could. Bell hung back, uncomfortable in the stinking cave.

Several of the Dwarves stuffed a few 'mementos' in their pockets.

Bell decided she'd seen enough, and slipped back up the tunnel to wait with the ponies. Agnes butted her chest in welcome and Myrtle tried to nibble at the end of Bell's long braid that hung over her shoulder.

Finally, the Dwarves returned. Most of them looked quite pleased with themselves, but when she spotted Thorin he wore an expression that looked a bit as if he'd eaten a sour cherry.

He glanced up and caught her eye. They hadn't spoken since he'd calmed her into sleep that morning, and Bell swallowed hard when he came her way. Would he say anything? Would he look at her differently now? Embarrassed by her weakness, Bell looked for anything she could say that wouldn't bring up that moment.

He held a long sword in a tooled scabbard in his hands. The hilt was wrought with swooping lines, very pleasing to her eye. "It's a lovely sword," she said, when Thorin stood in front of her.

"It's a well-balanced blade," he said. "Better than my old one, but of Elvish make."

The way he pronounced the word 'Elvish' left no doubt of his feelings. That explained the sour expression.

"Gandalf took a sword as well, and there was a smaller one he's going to give to Bilbo." He buckled the scabbard around his waist. "I found something for you, as well."

Bell held her hands up in front of her. "Please, don't try to give me a sword. I don't think I could bring myself to use it."

Thorin shook his head, with a serious expression in his eyes. "I wouldn't. You don't know what you're doing with one. You'd be more likely to hurt yourself or one of us. You have your knife. If you must defend yourself in the end, use it."

Bell's mouth went dry. Thorin was making her very nervous. "I don't know if I could kill something."

"I hope it won't come down to it," he said. "That's why I want you to take this." He reached over his shoulder and pulled a round shield from off his back. He held it in front of him with both hands. The metal was dark and pitted, though in a few places, where it had been hit by a blade sometime in the past, a brighter gleam shone through the patina.

"This buckler is of Dwarvish make," he said. "It's strong, but not too heavy. It's seen battle and come through in one piece."

Bell extended a tentative hand and ran it along the shield's surface. It was cool to the touch. She wondered how old it was and who had carried it before.

"If we find ourselves in battle, use this. Protect yourself. Buy us the time to save you if it comes down to it."

"I'll do my best," she said. She didn't know what else she _could_ say. That she didn't want anyone to be thinking of having to save her? That she knew she was a liability and the last one who should be considered in the heat of battle?

"I know you will," he said, simply. He held up the shield and gestured towards her back. "May I?"

Bell nodded. "Please."

And so he showed her how to carry the shield so that it would be out of the way, but easy to grab in a pinch. His hand grazed her neck. A shudder raced down her spine.

_He's only looking out for a member of his company, Bell_.

A loud crashing noise rose from the trees, drawing close.

Thorin spun towards it, dropping into a fighting crouch, the Elvish blade drawn. The rest of the Dwarves gathered into a line, ready to face whatever came thundering towards them.

Bell retreated towards the cave and reached for the shield, but before she could pull it free, a herd of giant rabbits bounded out of the trees, drawing a sledge with a man perched on it who might have been Gandalf, had the wizard been wont to roll about in mud and sticks.

The rabbits careened to a halt.

The Dwarves hesitated, unsure whether this was a friend or foe.

Then Gandalf stepped forward with a smile and a laugh. "Radagast the Brown! Well met, my friend."

Everything dissolved into confusion. The two wizards went off a short distance to confer. The Dwarves gathered in clusters, peering out at the wizards and muttering under their breath. Thorin and Dwalin stood nearby, although Bell couldn't make out what they were talking about.

Bilbo came up next to her and gestured down at the sword at his waist. "Gandalf's gone and given me a sword. I don't know what to do with it."

"He must trust you to figure it out," Bell said. "He wouldn't have given it to you otherwise."

Bilbo ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Bell," he said. "Sometimes I wonder why I left my hole. I feel like I don't belong here."

"I'm sure you do, Bilbo," she replied. "It was you who gave Gandalf time to save the company from being roasted alive. You're clever, and quick, and you don't lose your head."

"I wish I had your faith."

A howl like nothing Bell had ever heard rent the air. She looked over at Thorin. He stared up the slope, his dark blue eyes gone steely.

Something massive launched into the clearing, landing on its paws only steps from where Bell and Bilbo stood.

Bilbo shouted and staggered back.

Bell stared at the creature. Its skin was dark, with scattered tufts of rough fur. Scars traced it like spider webs. It swung its long-fanged muzzle towards her. She saw her terrified face reflected in its black eyes.

Thorin's blade swung down, slicing deep into the beast's skull. It fell in a heap.

Bell felt Thorin's hand wrap around her forearm, and he yanked her behind him.

Dwarves were shouting. Gandalf was shouting. Bell made out nothing, save for, "You are being hunted."

More howls echoed out of the trees.

The brown wizard leapt into his sledge and, with a wild shout, launched the rabbits out of the thicket.

Gandalf's voice echoed through Bell's skull.

"Run!"

#

**Author's Note: Next chapter - the flight to Rivendell!**


	13. Chapter 13

Bell didn't need to be told twice. Thorin released her arm and she turned tail, racing down through the trees in the midst of the company of Dwarves. Oin ran just ahead of her. Tree limbs slapped back in Oin's wake. Bell held up her arm to keep from losing an eye to the whipping branches.

Her skirt caught in the underbrush, tangling her feet. She gathered it up with her other hand and raced ahead. They burst out of the underbrush into a rolling plain dotted with rock formations that seemed to have torn their way through the smoother, grassy hills.

Radagast raced past in the distance, followed by what appeared to be a river of beasts, like the one that had landed in their midst. Crouched over their backs rode creatures that were formed like men, but twisted and unnatural.

Gandalf led them towards one of the rock formations. Bell found herself running beside Dori. "What are those things?" she gasped.

"Orcs," he said, looking like he wanted to spit on the ground. "Warg riders."

The rabbit sledge turned back their direction.

"Get down," Dori hissed, shoving her into a crouch, beneath the ridgeline and out of view. They ran on, bent low. The sound of pounding Dwarf feet surrounded them on all sides.

They reached the rock and gathered into a clump behind it. Gandalf peered around, gestured for them to wait. Bell leaned on her knees and tried to catch her breath. What had happened to the ponies? Where was poor Agnes?

"Now," said Gandalf. "Go. That way."

She went. Up an incline, towards the next rocking outcropping. Between one step and the next, her foot tangled in her own skirt. She stumbled. Tried to catch herself, but only managed to step farther up the skirt, and sprawled on the grassy hill.

Someone yanked her upright. The rest of the company was getting too far ahead. She staggered forward, tucking the ends of the skirt up through her belt so she couldn't make the same mistake again.

"Hurry." It was Thorin. He pushed her ahead of him and she raced for the shelter at the top of the rise.

Bifur beckoned them, a wild look in his eyes. A steady thumping grew louder.

Bell and Thorin reached the shelter and pressed themselves back against the rock. A moment later, Radagast rushed past, where they had just been.

Thorin leaned back, pushing the rest out of sight, as one warg rider after another surged over the hill.

Bell turned away. She didn't want to see the beasts, or their Orc riders, up close. Too often, she'd frozen in the face of danger. She wouldn't risk it again. In this case, she felt confident her imagination couldn't be worse than reality. She caught Bilbo's eyes, as wide and round as her own.

"We must move on," said Gandalf. "Hurry."

#

Thorin ran at the back of the company, watching for stragglers and ready to defend the rear if necessary. His mind raced. Where had these Orcs come from? What had Gandalf meant, _You're being hunted?_ That implied more than a pack simply coming across a likely trail.

The confounded brown wizard zipped by again in the distance. Couldn't he find some way to lead the Orcs farther from the company? The rabbits were fleet of foot, and wove about like minnows in a stream, but they needed distance. To get to . . . wherever it was Gandalf was leading them. The route the wizard chose did not feel random. He had a destination in mind.

The company gathered at the base of an unusually large outcrop. Thorin pressed in against the rock and began a silent head count. Had he lost anyone in their flight? No. Everyone was accounted for. The whoops of the warg riders sounded farther away. His fingers flexed on the Elvish sword's hilt and he waited, listening to the labored breath of his companions.

A low rumble vibrated through the air. Warg. Close by. The rumble increased. The beast was coming from above.

Kili stood on his left. Thorin gave the boy a pointed look and gestured at Kili's bow with his head. Now was his moment. His first taste of Orc battle.

Kili didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he stepped away from the rock, took aim, and fired.

The warg and his rider plummeted over the side of the outcropping and landed in a snarling pile at the company's feet. The Dwarves surged forward, pummeling and stabbing them until they lay motionless and silent.

Too long. Too noisy. Thorin held his breath as the silence lengthened.

A roar went up in the gutteral Orcish tongue. They'd been found.

"Run!" he shouted.

Gandalf led them onward, towards what end Thorin couldn't see. All around, wargs and their riders surged over the ridges, closing in.

"Kili!" he shouted. "Shoot them!"

His nephew planted his feet, firing arrow after arrow at the approaching Orcs, but there were too many.

"Hold your ground!"

Bilbo stood with the Dwarves, his little sword before him, but Thorin couldn't find Bell.

The world dropped into shades of gray. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth throbbed. How could he have lost her? He'd been watching. Surely, he'd have seen if she fell.

If she were dead . . . A bleak chill swept through him. The Orcs would pay in blood.

They drew nearer. Thorin bared his teeth and raised the Elvish blade.

"This way!" _Gandalf_. Thorin looked and found the wizard, who appeared to be sticking halfway up out of the rock. "There is a passageway!"

The wargs charged.

"Go!" Thorin shouted. "All of you!"

The Dwarves raced for the hidden passageway, all save Kili, who laid down covering fire.

Thorin slung his shield onto his back and gave a hand down to each of the company as they sprinted for the shelter. He kept his eyes trained on the approaching wargs, sword still in his free hand.

"Kili!" he shouted.

His nephew turned and ran for the opening. When Kili passed by a browned shrub, something round and metallic caught Thorin's eye. Bell's shield.

She uncurled herself from where she'd hidden between the shrub and the shield and chased after Kili.

The chill that had overtaken Thorin when he'd thought she was lost fled, replaced by searing heat when he saw the nearest warg rider train his feral eyes on the fleeing hobbit maid. Thorin roared and raced to intercept the beast.

Bell slipped past, the warg only steps behind. Thorin slashed at the beast's neck. It stumbled and fell onto its side. The rider leapt free and charged at Thorin. He spun away, his eyes still on the warg, who was not yet dead. It lunged forward, jaws wide, at the same moment the Orc swung its mace towards his head.

He couldn't avoid both the beast and the mace. There wasn't time to grab his shield. Gritting his teeth, Thorin ducked and drove the sword between the Orc's ribs, but the expected pain of the warg's bite never came.

Thorin looked back in time to see Bell stumble backwards toward him. She held her own shield in front of her. The warg shook its head, stunned.

Reflexively, Thorin reached out an arm and gathered the girl to his chest, breaking her fall. He raised his sword for a killing stroke, but a brown-fletched arrow shot through the beast's eye and it collapsed, twitching in death.

"Run, Uncle!" Kili shouted.

Without releasing Bell, Thorin raced for the passageway. Kili's arrows sped past on either side.

Thorin reached the entryway, a deep crevice. Wrapping his arms around the hobbit lass, he leapt inside. They hit the ground and rolled, Thorin's hand cradling Bell's head. She clung to his chest like a child, her face buried in the fur of his cloak.

Kili dropped down beside them.

Thorin detached Bell's hands from his cloak and rose, stepping between the girl and the entry. The Dwarves formed a defensive line.

A trumpet blast shattered the air. Sounds of battle echoed down through the stone. An Orc toppled through the entry and fell dead at their feet.

"The path goes out the back," said Dwalin. "Do we follow it?"

Thorin backed away from the entrance, sword still at the ready. He didn't know what was happening up above, but if it gave them cover to escape, he didn't care. "Follow it."

#

Bell was rushed along, wedged between Fili and Bombur. Her shield hung from numb fingers. She could hardly feel her arms at all. When the warg had impacted the shield, it had jolted her so hard she thought her shoulders would pop from their sockets.

She hadn't chosen to throw herself between the warg and the Dwarf king. If she'd thought about it, she might have hesitated. _Know your companions_, Thorin had said. _Trust them. Then let instinct take over_. Instinct had thrown her into the warg's path. She couldn't watch Thorin die.

When they had hiked for quite some time with no sign of pursuit, the company slowed from almost a jog to a moderate walk. The danger was past, at least for the moment, and now the first part of what Thorin had told her surged to the forefront. _Know yourself_.

So when the tremors and nausea struck, Bell was ready for them. She forced herself to keep moving, swallowing down the urge to vomit. She could still smell the stench of the warg's breath. Could still see its teeth, glimmering with spittle.

She swayed, catching herself against the steep chasm wall.

"Are you all right, Miss?" asked Bombur, who was walking behind her.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, determined to make it true. "I'm fine."

"There's a wider spot just ahead if you want to step aside for a bit of a breather."

Bell nodded and slipped into the crevice. Bombur passed by, his girth pressing her hard against the stone. She wished she could fade into the rock and vanish, could become stone in her core and never feel weak again. The Dwarves passed by one by one, then Gandalf. Thorin trailed behind, guarding the rear.

Bell wrapped her arms around herself, to still her shaking. The motion pulled Thorin's attention. Their eyes met. She bit down hard to try to stop her chattering teeth, but it didn't matter. Thorin knew.

He crossed the distance between them in three strides and gathered her to his chest, his arms tightening so hard it almost hurt. Bell didn't care. All that mattered was that he was there, rocking her, his hand holding her head close against his shoulder, fingers buried in her hair.

Thorin didn't speak, letting his actions give her the reassurance she desperately craved. It was over. They were safe. He was with her.

Bell fought down sobs. They would do no one any good. Instead, she breathed in Thorin's scent, let it wash through her, suffusing her with his strength.

She curled her hand between her lips and his chest. "Does it get easier?" she asked.

Thorin put both hands on her head, and tipped it back until she was staring into his eyes. "It does," he said, a hard edge to his voice. "It's never easy, but it does get easier. I swear it."

Bell swallowed, keenly aware of Thorin's lips so close to her face, his breath on her cheeks. Suddenly, the racing of her heart shifted, not so much a product of terror for her life, but a different sort of fear. The fear that she'd do something she would live to regret.

She took a step back. Her body felt cold where it no longer touched Thorin's.

He released his grasp on her slowly, _reluctantly_? "Can you go on now?" he asked. "The lads will be wondering what's become of us."

"Yes," she said, giving herself a little shake. "Yes, I can go on." Her teeth bit down on her lower lip. "Thank you."

Thorin gestured her ahead of him with a dip of his head. Bell couldn't read the expression on his face. She only hoped he couldn't read the conflicting thoughts racing through her mind, but the better part of her believed he could.

She quickened her pace to catch up to the company. Ahead, the chasm widened. Sunlight streamed through, brightening the pathway. The Dwarves and Bilbo stood in clumps, staring out over a vast, deep valley.

Bell stepped close and her jaw dropped. On the far side of the valley hung a delicate tapestry of buildings, crafted out of dreams. Shimmering cataracts cascaded through them, then vanished in a haze of mist far below.

Gandalf shifted his staff and smiled. "Welcome to Imladris, the Last Homely House."

"Rivendell," said Bilbo, his voice filled with wonder.

Bell had never seen anything more beautiful in all the years of her memory, but the Dwarves shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes sought Thorin.

He was glaring up at Gandalf with eyes full of thunder.

#

**Author's Note: Wow. That was hard to write. Action scenes are a bear. Hope it worked out all right in the end!**

**I'm heading back into my work week, so it's possible I might be a bit slower with posts. Hopefully not, but just wanted to give my awesome readers a heads-up.**

**Next chapter - Elves!**


	14. Chapter 14

The hike down the winding trail, past shimmering cataracts, rainbows glimmering in their misty clouds, should have been a wonder, and Bell tried to appreciate it, but the air of barely contained anger that simmered from Thorin cast a pall over everything. Bell stayed close to Bilbo and paid close attention to her footing, keeping as close to the steep wall as she could. It would be a long way to fall.

They reached a long, narrow bridge that crossed over a tree-lined gully. Gandalf strode across, without so much as a glance to the left or the right, despite the lack of any walls or rails. Bell's insides quivered when she stepped onto the walkway. She stared straight at Bofur's back and tried not to think about the precipitous drop on either side.

On reaching the far side, the Dwarves huddled together, while an Elf came forth to greet them. He spoke with Gandalf in the Elven tongue.

Thorin stood in the center of the group, but his bearing, pulled taut, like a bow ready to be released, made him an island. The other Dwarves muttered to each other all around him, but none tried to engage him. Bell knew that Thorin had reason to distrust the Elves-even to hate them-but it pained her to see him so.

The thunder of hooves clamored up from behind. A company of mounted Elves cantered across the narrow bridge and circled around the Dwarves. Bell shrunk back with the rest and found herself pressed tight between Fili and Kili. The Elves were so tall. The _horses_ were so tall. She felt as if she were no bigger than a mouse, and as likely to be trodden upon.

A dark-haired elf of regal bearing, a silver circlet crowning his head, detached himself from the rest. "Mithrandir," he said, inclining his head towards Gandalf, "you are welcome in Imladris." The Elf continued speaking, melodious words that Bell couldn't understand flowing from his lips. At the same time, his gaze scanned the company, as if he were weighing each man among them, gauging the contents of their hearts.

He caught Bell's eyes and tilted his head. She wanted to look away, to sink into the ground and disappear, but then the Elf lord's gaze moved on, landing at last on Thorin.

"You also are welcome in Imladris, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain."

Bell bit down on her tongue. Gandalf had forced Thorin's hand to bring him here. This could go badly.

Thorin lifted his chin. "I don't believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror, of old. I am Elrond, Lord of Rivendell." He spread his hands in a gesture of welcome. "You must be hungry. Come, eat. Take your ease."

The Dwarves huddled in discussion, looking to Thorin for approval. The exiled King under the Mountain inclined his head, although he did not relax his stiff posture.

"Lead on," said Gloin.

#

Dinner was not what Bell would consider a complete success. The Elves' fondness for vegetarian food caused some dissention among the company. Ori refused to eat at all, while many of the rest picked at their food. Gandalf, Thorin, Bilbo, and Balin sat at a separate table with Lord Elrond. Bell was too far away to hear their conversation, but she saw that at least Bilbo ate with a good appetite, and Thorin maintained his rigidly controlled civility. He ate what he was given, but looked as if he were tasting straw.

Bell tried to keep up a conversation with the Dwarves who were seated with her. She asked Bofur about his flute, looked at the notebook Ori kept with him, in which he scribbled details of the journey during moments of rest. Anything to keep them from thinking too hard about their discomfort with their surroundings, although none of them seemed quite as on edge as Thorin.

She even asked Kili to show her his trick of juggling his knives, which he'd tried to show her on more than one occasion. He brightened and made the others back away to give him space. Flashing a glinting grin, he stood up and unsheathed his two belt knives. Bell gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, although she wondered if she were far enough away to avoid being stabbed if he made a mistake.

In the end, she hadn't needed to worry. Kili finished with a high toss and flourish, then swept a dramatic bow. The Dwarves erupted in applause. Bell ducked her head when Kili reached across the table, grabbed her hand, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I know my way around my weapons," he said, with a wink.

"A fine display, Master Dwarf," came a low, mellifluous voice from behind Bell.

She turned. An Elven woman stood in an open archway. Her long dark hair cascaded in silken waves like spun glass. Her deep blue eyes crinkled in the corners and her dark lips curved upwards.

The Dwarves rose as one. Bofur swiped his hat from his head and held it in front of him.

"Please, sit," the Elf said. "I am Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Lord Elrond. I had heard there was a Halfling girl among you."

Bell stood up, wrapping her fingers self-consciously in her skirt. "I'm Bell Goodchild . . . er . . . daughter of Godwin?"

Arwen's smile broadened. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Bell Goodchild. It is rare that we Elves come across something new under the sun. Yours is a young race, and you are the first of your kind that I have met. Would you come with me and do me the honor of telling me of your homeland?"

Bell hesitated. Should she leave her companions alone?

Dwalin waved her forward. "Go on, then."

"Are you sure?"

"We're not going anywhere tonight," Fili said. "Go on."

Bell looked back at Elrond's daughter and knew she would never see another woman more beautiful in all the days of her life. Aware of her own small stature and simple nature, she felt utterly overwhelmed. She swallowed and nodded. "As you wish, Mistress Undomiel."

Arwen laughed, a gentle sound like a flowing stream. "My name is Arwen. I give you leave to use it. Come. You have traveled far, and I think you would enjoy a chance to bathe."

#

Bell floated in a slow-running stream, hot, Arwen said, from a spring high above. It fell down the slope of the valley's wall, then circled lazily past a secluded atrium before slipping down again to join the waters of the Bruinen. Steam rose from the water's surface. Bell had scrubbed herself so hard her skin was red, and for the first time in days, her hair was blessedly clean.

All the while, Arwen had waited nearby with a garment she called a night dress, asking questions about the Shire. About holes, and pipeweed, and second breakfasts. Little, simple things that Bell took for granted as a part of everyday life were a source of fascination to the Elven lady. At first, Bell had been certain that she would quickly tire of the conversation, but instead, she had found still more things to learn about.

Arwen averted her eyes when Bell stepped free of the stream and extended the gown towards her. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's a bit long. It belonged to me when I was a child, and that was . . . ever so long ago."

"Thank you," Bell said, and slipped the gossamer garment over her head. Arwen tied a silk belt shot through with silver threads around Bell's waist. The gown was impossibly light, but surprisingly warm in the evening breeze. It was a bit tight at the hips and across the chest-a hobbit simply did not have the willowy build of an elf-but the fabric stretched comfortably and didn't appear to be in danger of tearing at the seams. The sleeves were split and draped away at her elbows.

"I thought you would appreciate something clean," Arwen said. "It's as well that someone gets some use of this. We Elves do not often have children. It is long since there was one among us here in Imladris."

Bell smiled, a little wearily. She was worried about Thorin, and she wondered how her companions were faring. Probably hungry. She sighed. Dwarves and their carnivorous tendencies. Well, they had seemed to enjoy her baking from Bilbo's larder well enough.

She glanced over at the Elf lady. "I wonder," she asked, "do Elves have such things as flour, butter, and sugar?"

"We do, but why do you ask?"

"I wonder," Bell looked down at her hands, "if you might be willing to let me use your kitchen?"

#

Thorin sat alone on a bench in a secluded alcove. Moonlight streamed in through the open walls. It felt inherently wrong. Homes should have solid walls. Walls of stone. Walls of earth. Walls of wood, if nothing else was to be found.

Before leaving him to go in search of Lord Elrond, Gandalf had tried once more to convince Thorin to show the Elf the map. _Here you stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read it_, he had said, and yet Thorin couldn't bring himself to hand the folded parchment into the hands of an Elf. It felt like a desecration, and yet a terrible fear gnawed at him. What if there was more to the map that he was missing? What if this was a mistake?

He rose and paced to the edge of the floor and leaned up against an arched pillar that looked out into nothingness, resting his head against his fist. He'd sent the rest of the company to get some sleep. The noises that made their way from the landing where they'd laid out the bedrolls told him they had yet to take his advice. It didn't make him feel better. He knew that he would not rest in this place, but there was no reason the others should not.

The stars twinkled like diamonds overhead, kindling memories of the deep mines of Erebor. Longing curled in his belly, so hard he could taste it. His home. His father's and his grandfather's legacy. His destiny. If only he could solve the riddle of the door-could discover the fate of the dragon that had killed so many of his kin, while the Elves watched, silent and unmoved.

His fingers tightened, whitening his knuckles. How long was the night? How long must he fight this battle within himself?

A soft rustle of fabric warned him someone was approaching, and not one of his men. He straightened. He would not give an Elf the privilege of seeing his torment.

"Thorin?"

Thorin turned towards Bell's voice. He hadn't seen her since dinner, although the others assured him that all was well. She was with Lord Elrond's daughter. That didn't seem to him to be _all well_, but there was little he could say.

She stepped out of the shadows into the full light of a moonbeam. It caught and glimmered off a simple white gown that clung to her body like a second skin, then draped to pool on the floor like a soft, shimmering cloud. Her long curls hung loose, silver-pale in the moonlight, falling towards her elbows in a sea of ringlets. Her long lashes glinted.

With her gently pointed ears, she looked almost Elven herself, like one of Thranduil's forest kin. Impossibly fair. The vision both entranced and dismayed him.

She took a tentative step towards him, stumbled over the long gown, and nearly dropped the small platter she held in one hand before managing to right herself. The spell was broken. She was Bell again. Familiar Bell, with all her fumbles and frailties-just wrapped in a gilt skin that hid her kind heart behind a mask of unnecessary finery.

"I made the company some seed cakes," she said, almost apologetically. "When I found you weren't with them, I asked Balin where to find you. I thought maybe you might . . ." Her words drifted off under the weight of his stare.

"I'm sorry," she said, backing away. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I'll just leave these by the door . . ."

"No," Thorin said. "Don't go."

He'd sought out solitude, but Bell's presence didn't rankle him. Not like the others' would. In the company of his companions, who had so often shared fireside rants over the Elves' betrayal at Erebor, he feared he would slip into the familiar pattern. A dangerous one in this place. As long as he remained under the roof of Lord Elrond, he must maintain his civility.

Bell picked up the gown's hem and crossed the open floor to where he stood by the precipice, although she kept a wary distance from the edge. She held out the plate of seed cakes towards him. Thorin shook his head. The thought of food curdled his stomach, although he was sure the others had appreciated the offering. "It's kind of you to think of us, but I can't."

She didn't argue or look put out. Just nodded her head, set the platter on a nearby table, and inched closer, her eyes going wider the closer she came to the drop-off.

"It's all right," Thorin said, offering her his hand. "I won't let you fall."

She took it, grasping hard. The hobbit lass was stronger than she looked, or at least her fear of the height made her so.

He drew her forward until she stood beside him, framed in the archway. She said nothing for a long time, nor did she release his hand. Thorin closed his eyes and focused on the soft fingers clasped within his own. On the quiet inhale and exhale of her breathing. It was oddly calming. For the first time since stepping foot into the Valley of Imladris, he felt his rigid muscles begin to release some of their tension.

He did not know how long they stood there, not speaking. It didn't matter. Bell's nearness was an oasis of peace in a hostile place.

"This must be so different from your home," she said at last, breaking the spell.

"We live in the mountains," Thorin said. "Not on them."

"A bit like our holes, then?" she asked.

The thought of comparing a prim and proper hobbit hole to the vast majesty of the Dwarf kingdoms startled a laugh from him. He hadn't thought that was possible in this place.

"Not at all," he said.

The breeze stiffened, pressing hard against them and unsettling Bell. She took a step closer, so close her pale hair tangled with his in the wind.

"Tell me about Erebor?"

Thorin stared out over the abyss, up towards the sky. "See the stars?" he asked.

Bell nodded.

"Imagine the sky is the rock that forms the mountain. Each of those stars is a precious gem, ready to be delved free." He let his mind drift back, to the time before the coming of Smaug. "The great hall of Erebor stands nearly as tall as those hills across the valley. Statues honoring the kings of old guard the entrance, tall and strong and born of the mountain. Some said that in times of danger, those statues would come to life and defend the halls of the king." He shook his head and his voice dropped low. "They did not. Nothing more than a children's legend."

Bell squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

Thorin shook himself. He would not dwell on that time. Not now. Not here.

"My grandfather's throne stood in a place of high honor, and it was crowned with the centerpiece of Erebor-the Arkenstone. The Heart of the Mountain." His heart beat faster with the memory. "A jewel like none seen before or since. An orb the size of a man's fist, lit from within as if it held a constellation of stars."

"I wish that I could see your kingdom," said Bell.

"You will one day," Thorin replied, looking down at the top of her head. "You will."

She didn't reply for a long time, and when she did her voice was so quiet he hardly heard her. "Not if you can't find the door."

Thorin closed his eyes. "How can I ask Elrond for help? How, when the Elves stood by and watched Erebor fall?"

"Was Lord Elrond there on that day?"

"No," Thorin replied. "It was Thranduil who watched my kingdom burn."

"Then why paint the Lord of Rivendell with the same brush? You do not know what he might have done."

Thorin knew these things, so why did it feel different coming from Bell's lips? How long had he fanned the flame of rancor in his heart? Had he burned away his own ability to weigh truth and necessity?

"Don't lose this opportunity, Thorin," Bell said. "Not and risk the chance of regretting it for the rest of your life."

With a deep sigh, Thorin backed away from the opening, drawing Bell with him. He grasped her gently by the shoulders. She looked up at him with an expression that mingled fear that she might have pushed him too hard and a stubborn tilt to her chin that told him she wouldn't back down.

"I'll think about it," he said. "There's one more day. Lord Elrond offered to re-provision us, and I think we must accept. We lost too much with the ponies. The supplies won't be ready until late tomorrow."

It wasn't the answer she wanted to hear-he could tell from the way her shoulders drooped-but it was the best answer he could give. He _would_ think about it. Would try to look at the balance of what there was to be gained against what remained to be lost, with clearer eyes and keener vision.

An overwhelming weariness slipped over Thorin. His eyelids felt heavy. The energy of holding his guard in place had left him exhausted.

"You should sleep," Bell said. "You can't think if you can't keep your eyes open. That's what my father always told me."

Thorin had resigned himself to a long night of wakefulness, but finally felt calm enough to try to sleep. "I think your father must be a wise man."

"So you'll come?"

"In a minute." He picked up the platter from where it sat atop the table. The sweet scent of the seed cakes reminded him of the Shire, now a not altogether unpleasant memory. "First, I think I might eat something."

#

**Author's Note: Holy smokes. This chapter ended up being **_**much**_** longer than I anticipated. I'm worn out from all the things I was trying to accomplish here. I hope it ended up being successful. Time will tell. =)**


	15. Chapter 15

When Bell returned to the company, most were finally nestled into their bedrolls. A few seed cakes remained, piled haphazardly on a serving platter, but most had been consumed by the Dwarves, and Bilbo, who had been effusive in their thanks. Ori, especially, had stumbled over his own tongue trying to express the depth of his gratitude.

She glanced back the way she'd come, hoping Thorin would be true to his word that he would try to sleep. He needed it badly. Thorin was stronger than any man she'd seen, but Balin had said that even the strongest will falter, and she feared that Thorin was at the end of his endurance. He took so much on himself. No man could hold up the world, no matter how hard he tried.

"Will he come?" asked Balin, appearing at her shoulder.

"I think so," Bell said. "I hope so."

"You do the lad good, you know," said the old Dwarf, quietly, so as not to be overheard. "I see it."

Bell's lips twitched towards a smile. "I don't think he'd appreciate being called a 'lad.'"

"No," Balin agreed, "but I've known him from the day he was born. No matter how old and grizzled he may grow before I pass on from this life, he will always be a lad to me. And a man. The best man I hope to know. Not everyone sees it. Not at first. He's a prickly one, but show him loyalty and a willing heart and he will go to the ends of the earth for you."

Bell stifled a yawn. The long day had sapped her. It was all too much. Trolls and shields, Orcs and wargs, Elves and seed cakes, and overarching all of it, Thorin Oakenshield. No matter where she turned her thoughts, he was there.

"I spoke to one of the Elves," said Balin. "They brought you a bedroll of your own. I laid it out just over in the corner there. A bit of privacy for you."

A momentary flash of disappointment rushed through her. There would be no reason now to curl herself in Thorin's cloak again. Still, it was for the best, she knew. If she were to continue on with the company, she would need her own things.

If she were to continue on.

A lump formed in her throat. On the journey towards the Trollshaws, she'd overheard Thorin speaking with Dwalin. He'd made it clear that he intended to leave her when they found a place of safety, since he hadn't been able to send her back to Hobbiton, as had been his original plan. Surely, Rivendell was as safe a place as could be found west of the Misty Mountains. The Elves had been welcoming, and Arwen had taken such a keen interest in her Bell didn't think they would be hard to convince to keep watch over her.

Bell didn't want to think about it, but now that it had occurred to her, she didn't think she'd be able to stop. She hugged her waist.

"Thank you, Balin," she said. "You've been so kind to me, from the first."

"Get some sleep, lassie." He glanced past her shoulder. "Here he comes now. Time for me to pretend I wasn't up and worrying. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

#

When Bell woke, sunlight was streaming through the airy landing, and there was no sign of any Dwarf, save for their scattered belongings. How long had she slept? The bone-deep weariness that had settled over her the night before had retreated, but wasn't gone. It had been a long night of tossing and turning, unable to still her roiling mind.

Bell stretched and groaned.

"Good morning, Bell Goodchild."

Bell startled. She hadn't seen Arwen sitting quietly in the shadows. She struggled to free herself from the bedroll and found herself tangled in the night dress. At last, she freed herself and got to her feet. "Good morning, Arwen. I'm sorry I slept so late."

"Do not be troubled," the Elf lady replied. "Your companions have been making good use of your absence. I asked Glorfindel to show them the bathing stream. They will be the cleanest Dwarves you've laid eyes on when they return."

Bell chuckled ruefully. "Given that they're the only Dwarves I've laid eyes on, that won't be difficult."

"Your own clothes have been cleaned," Arwen gestured to a folded pile on the bench beside her, "but I think that they may not be well suited to traveling."

"That's true. The skirt nearly got me killed only yesterday."

"I hope you will not mind. I asked some of my kin to create something more appropriate for you. They are eager to ply their hands to it. As I said, you and Bilbo are the first of your kind who have set foot in this place. It is a new challenge for us to try and dress you."

Bell felt disturbingly like a child's playtoy. A doll to be dressed. It was an odd sensation and she wasn't entirely sure she enjoyed it, but she dipped her head. "That's very generous, thank you. I'm not sure, though, whether I'll be going on with the rest."

"Why?"

So Bell related her tale. How she had never been meant to be a part of the company. How a simple handkerchief had catapulted her into this river that raced on towards Erebor with a relentless current. How Thorin had said he would leave her when the opportunity arose.

Arwen listened without comment until the tale was told in full, save for the parts which touched on Thorin and Thorin alone. Those were Bell's and she would not share them. Not even the Dwarves knew, save possibly Balin. Almost every one of those moments had been in privacy, save the brief embrace at the Trollshaws, and that was easily explained as an expression of gratitude.

When Bell reached the end of the tale, Arwen looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "You do not wish to remain behind."

"No," said Bell. Her voice hitched. "No, I do not."

"The road ahead is likely to be perilous."

"Yes," Bell agreed. Of course it was, but so had been the road behind.

Arwen's brows drew close in the center, a small furrow raising between them. "You do not think they will agree?"

Bell shook her head. She couldn't bring herself to speak the words.

"If they will not bring you with them, remember that it is because of their affection for you." Arwen rose. "I will take my leave. Rivendell is open to you. Go where you wish. In the meantime," she tilted her head to the side, her eyes taking on a thoughtful expression, "I think you must decide whether you will be bound by the choices of others."

Bell bobbed a curtsey, and then Arwen was gone, leaving only the scent of lilies behind her.

#

Freshly clean and feeling more himself than he had since setting foot on Elven ground, Thorin resolved to seek out Gandalf. He found the wizard in the only room he'd seen in Rivendell that was fully enclosed. A library. Tomes and scrolls lined the walls and rested on tables. Gandalf stood over an unfurled scroll, running his finger along the page, lips moving silently.

Thorin stepped inside, leaned against the wall, and waited. Gandalf came to the end of the passage he was reading, then straightened and looked over at him. "Yes?"

It was time to swallow his pride. "You were right, Gandalf," he said. "I will show Lord Elrond the map."

"Finally decided to bend your stubborn Dwarven neck, did you?" Gandalf huffed out a breath. "That may be the first wise thing you've done since leaving on this quest."

Thorin straightened. "I needed time to think and, perhaps, a bit of perspective."

"Well, however you found this perspective, I am grateful for it. Come along." Gandalf rolled up the scroll and placed it on top of a stack of similar rolls. "I know where to find Lord Elrond."

The wizard turned towards a door on the far side of the library.

"Gandalf, wait." Thorin pressed a fist to his lips. "I would ask your counsel on another matter."

"Oh, indeed?" Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"Bell Goodchild."

"Mmm," Gandalf said. "You would ask whether now is the time to leave her behind."

Thorin inclined his head. "You know I have no love for Elves, but she's been treated well here. Lord Elrond would look after her, would he not?"

"I'm quite sure he would, but it seems the last time we spoke you thought you would rather keep her where you could keep watch over her yourself."

And there was the crux of the matter. Thorin didn't want to leave her behind. It was the most selfish thing he could imagine, to drag the hobbit maid towards danger, when here was comfort and safety for the asking, but the fact remained that the thought of continuing on without her left him hollow to the core.

"I wonder," Gandalf asked, "if Bell Goodchild had anything to do with this newfound perspective?"

"That is not your concern."

What happened between him and the girl was no business of the wizard. Besides, he didn't know himself what to call the strange bond that had forged between them. He only knew that when she was near, he felt more alive than he could recall since the day he fled from Erebor.

"I wonder that you would think to ask my counsel, if you will not give me the knowledge I need to give it wisely. Still, your lack of answer speaks more loudly than you may wish. I will tell you only this. Do you remember when we began this adventure back in Bag End? When I insisted that we bring Bilbo Baggins along as our burglar?"

Thorin nodded.

"You told me you could not guarantee his safety, nor would you be responsible for his fate. Does the same hold true of Bell Goodchild? Ask yourself these questions, then weigh your choice. But for now, Thorin Oakenshield, come with me and let us find Lord Elrond before you change your mind."

#

Bell kept to herself most of the day, too preoccupied with the fear of being left behind to appreciate the many wonders she found while exploring the nooks and crannies of Imladris. At least she was back in her own familiar clothes, and no longer felt quite so much like a mannequin made up to resemble the Elf lady she could never be, not even if she wished it.

She came across Bilbo once, sitting in a library, and joined him for a while, until he took in the room with a wistful look, swung his feet, which dangled well above the floor, and said, "In a way, I'm envious of you, Bell. You will get the chance to spend a good deal more time here. I think that someday, if I get the opportunity, I will return. If ever there was a place more restful, I do not believe I shall ever find it."

He didn't even question whether she would be going ahead with the company. She wondered if she were the only one who did. Whenever she spotted a Dwarf, she ducked out of sight before they could see her. She had come to know these men. To appreciate them and their strange ways. She felt at home with them, in a way she didn't think she could ever find amidst the perfect beauty of Rivendell.

It worked well enough until dinner time. There was no avoiding them then. They were all seated at the same tables as the night before. This time, the Elves provided bread, butter, and honey along with the leafy greens they had served before. The Dwarves ate the honeyed bread with aplomb. Kili and Fili traded turns trying to get her to laugh at one wild joke after another.

She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes. Too often, her gaze drifted to the grand table overlooking the valley. Thorin looked far more at ease than he had the day before. He spoke with Lord Elrond and showed him the sword he'd taken from the troll-hoard.

Twice, she caught him looking back at her. Both times, his face was dark and troubled. Her stomach turned somersaults. She picked at the salad on her plate.

During the meal, the moon rose high overhead, casting its pale beams through the arched pillars of Rivendell. At some signal she couldn't see, Lord Elrond rose-Thorin, Gandalf, Bilbo, and Balin with him-and they left the platform.

Soon it would be time to retire. The Dwarves had been given their new provisions and all was in readiness to depart in the morning. And still she did not know her fate.

Too distracted to concentrate and too nervous to try, Bell excused herself and slipped away down the passage to the solitary atrium where she'd found Thorin the night before. She didn't think anyone else would look for her there.

With luck they wouldn't miss her at all.

Bell didn't dare tread close to the open archway where she'd stood the night before. Not without Thorin to keep her steady. Instead, she sat on a bench with her back against the bare rock wall of the plunging cliff face, fighting off the tears that had threatened all day.

The effort left her empty and listless. She did not know how long she sat there, but the breeze had picked up and she was shivering with cold when the sound of footsteps approached.

Thorin stood silhouetted in the entry. He gazed up at the moon with an expression she could not read, and although he did not look at her, she knew he could not have missed seeing her when he approached.

"I showed Lord Elrond the map," Thorin said. "He found moon-runes written on it that can only be read by the light of the same moon, of the same season, as the day they were written. They held the clue that will show us the way to the keyhole. If I'd delayed, the chance would have been missed." He looked over at Bell. His eyes were glints peering out from the shadows beneath his brows. "You were right."

Bell forced a smile to her lips. "I'm glad for you."

Thorin drew in a long breath. "Bell, we need to talk."

Now it came. Bell's heart tightened, stealing her breath.

"I've spoken to Lord Elrond," Thorin said, crossing to the archway overlooking the valley. "He's been gracious enough to offer you the protection of this house until such time as you can be safely returned to your home."

He didn't look back. Didn't meet her eyes. "We go towards dangers that I cannot know. Perhaps more dire than those we have already encountered." His fists clenched. "If anything were to happen to you . . ."

"Don't." Bell rose. Tremors ran down the length of her spine. "Don't say that you're leaving me here for my own good."

She moved across the distance separating them, her steps slowing when she drew near the precipice. She paused.

"Look at me."

Thorin turned towards her slowly. His gaze followed the floor until he reached her feet, then rose the length of her body until he met her eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"You haven't asked me what my wishes are," Bell said. Arwen's words echoed through her mind. _You must decide whether you will be bound by the choices of others_.

"After what we came through only to get this far? I was with you, Bell. I know the terror you faced. I felt you trembling in my arms."

"I'm trembling now." She swallowed hard. "There are other things to fear besides death, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin strode towards her and pulled her close within the folds of his cloak. His hands found her gooseflesh-pricked arms and rubbed warmth into them. She rested her head against his chest. It rose and fell with each breath.

"What _do_ you want?" he asked, when she finally stopped shivering.

"I want to go with you. To be a part of your company. To help you retake your kingdom."

He drew her away from the precipice, leaned back until he could see her eyes, and swept her hair back from her face with one hand, his fingers trailing over her cheek. "I cannot guarantee your safety."

"Nor can anyone. I know I can't offer you my sword, and I'm not a burglar, but really, neither is Bilbo, and he goes on with you."

"He's not . . ."

"Not a woman?"

"Not you."

Bell's breath grew shallow under the intensity in Thorin's eyes. She raised her chin. "Do you truly want to leave me behind?"

Thorin shook his head and wrapped his hand in her hair. "It's the right thing to do."

"No it isn't. Not if neither of us wants it."

Thorin laid his forehead on the top of her curls.

"Back at the Trollshaws, you said you were in my debt," Bell whispered. "Let me choose my repayment. Let me come with you."

"I shouldn't." His voice was gruff.

"But you will."

Thorin wrapped his arms around her fully, until there was hardly space left to breathe. "May the Valar forgive me," he said. "I will."

#

**Author's Note: I think I've been through three different versions of that last scene. Finding the right balance is a delicate thing.**

**Thank you all, again, for your comments. They fuel the fire and help to drive me forward.**

**On with the adventure.**


	16. Chapter 16

Thorin didn't know how long they stood there under the moonlight, wrapped close, Bell's apple-blossom scent and the loose strands of her curls tickling his nose. There were no words between them. They didn't seem necessary. Everything that needed to be said had been said already.

Eventually, Bell began to droop and her breathing slowed. Thorin grasped her more firmly around the waist. "You're asleep on your feet," he said. "It's time to go to bed."

"Don't want to," she protested, her words slurring together with drowsiness.

Thorin smiled and shook his head. "You may not want to, but you're going to. We have a long day of travel ahead, the two of us."

"And it must begin sooner than you planned, I think." Gandalf's voice was so unexpected, Thorin startled. His motion jogged Bell, who pulled away from him, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

"Gandalf," Thorin said. "I didn't hear you coming."

"That," the wizard replied, "is evident. Perspective indeed, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin took a step forward, shielding Bell from the gray wizard's sharp gaze. "What do you want?" he asked.

"After you left, I discovered that the Lady Galadriel is here. She's summoned the White Council to discuss matters of . . . import. I was only just able to slip away for a few moments. There is one among the Council who, I think, may try to dissuade you from your quest. Maybe even try to forbid it."

Immediately, the wizard had Thorin's full attention. "This is _my_ quest. Mine and my companions. I do not recognize any man's authority to gainsay it."

"You may not recognize his authority, but Saruman the White is a powerful wizard. His voice holds the power to persuade, beyond the will of mortal men to resist. I can hold his attention for several hours, and I think that Lady Galadriel will help me, but you must be gone with the dawn."

Thorin nodded, his mind already racing ahead towards the last plans that must be made. Then he realized the import of what Gandalf had said. "You do not go with us?"

"It is the only way I can guarantee you an escape from Rivendell without having to go before Saruman. You know the trail, Thorin. Follow it as we had planned, and I will join you in the mountains."

Bell had slipped out from behind Thorin and stood a hand's-breadth from his side. "Should I go and tell the others?" she asked.

Gandalf regarded her, his lips pulled to one side. "I take it from this," he extended his hand towards the two of them, "that Miss Goodchild is continuing on with the company."

"She is."

"Then it would seem I owe Lady Arwen five silver coins. I thought she was quite mad when she gave me this." Gandalf pulled a pack from behind his back. It was smaller than those the Dwarves carried-hobbit-sized-and made of a mottled green fabric that seemed to shed the light. "She bade me deliver this to you, Bell Goodchild, and say that her blessing goes with you."

Bell took the pack, hefting it with one hand, testing its weight. "Will you tell her thank you for me?"

Gandalf nodded. "For now, however, I must return to the Council, or Saruman may begin to suspect I'm up to something more than going to gather a new packet of pipeweed."

#

Bell lifted the flap of the pack and glanced inside. The moon gave enough light to see that Arwen had been true to her word. There were new clothes inside.

Thorin had gone to wake the rest, leaving her a moment to gather herself. Although she was weary to her core, she knew she must find the energy to move ahead. In truth, the idea of leaving behind the open spaces and plunging cataracts of Rivendell served as a pool of motivation. It was beautiful, but deeply unsettling to a hobbit-lass whose idea of comfort was a hole delved into a nice, homey hill. It would be good to be somewhere that taking one step too far couldn't send her plummeting into the abyss.

Bell pulled out the clothes, curious what sort of thing the Elves might think appropriate for a hobbit girl traveling the wild. Given their propensity for long, smooth lines and close-fitting cuts, she was a bit afraid she'd find a pair of legging like hose and a shirt that did nothing to hide the shape of her figure.

It was with no little bit of delight, then, that she discovered the Elves had a better feel for the sensibilities of a hobbit than she had expected. The fabric was unfamiliar-a nubby, light weave that might have been homespun, save for the silky texture of the fibers-and the same sort of swirling mix of green, brown, and gray that the pack was made of. Her eyes kept trying to slip over and past it, and she had the feeling it was made specifically to be unnoticeable in most places. The trousers were loose fitting, with plenty of spare fabric, and tied just above the ankles, giving her both modesty and the ability to move unfettered.

For the top, there was a hooded tunic of the same weave. It did skim her form a bit more closely than she might have liked for an undergarment, but she reminded herself that her bodices clung just as near, indeed perhaps more so. This was just one less layer. The tunic hung down to her hips, then split at the sides, draping down to her knees in the front and back.

Bell found a comb and hair ties tucked into an outer pocket. In minutes, her hair was back in a long braid that draped over her shoulder, and she pulled the tunic's hood over her head.

She stuffed her own clothing into the pack, then slung it over her shoulder and followed after Thorin.

The Dwarves were already moving, gathering their personal belongings, tugging the straps closed on their packs. Bilbo fumbled to belt on the little sword Gandalf had given to him.

Bell slipped past along the wall and wrapped up the bedroll the Elves had given her. Tying it on to the back of her own pack-knowing that now she had provisions of her own-gave her a strong sense of belonging and purpose. She wasn't the same, naive girl who had raced out into the unknown with nothing more than the clothes on her back.

When everything was in readiness, she slipped the pack's straps over her shoulders, gathered up the shield, which had lain beside her bed, and went to join the others.

She stood off to the side, not wanting to get in the way. They had their methods for doing things, and she'd be more of a hindrance than a help until she learned them. The Dwarves didn't appear to notice her at all. They went about their business without conversation, and when everyone stood ready, Thorin began a low-voiced head count.

"Fili, Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori . . . where is Ori?"

"Ready, Thorin," said Ori. He had knelt down beside his pack and was just stuffing his notebook into a side pocket.

"Good. Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin and me. That accounts for the Dwarves. Bilbo?"

"I'm here."

Thorin looked over at Bell. Even if the others hadn't noticed her, clearly he had. "Bell?"

"Ready."

The Dwarves turned towards her voice and suddenly the quiet was broken by a torrent of questions, words rolling over one another so that Bell couldn't parse them into coherency. Mostly, though, it consisted of, "She's coming?"

Thorin raised his hand and the clamor died. "Yes, she's coming. I don't want to hear any arguments."

There was silence for a moment, then Fili said, "Who's arguing? At least now we won't have to suffer through Bombur's sausages."

A chorus of groans and laughter broke the moment of tension.

"Quiet, everyone." Although Thorin did not raise his voice, it commanded everyone's attention. "Do you want every soul in Rivendell to know of our departure? There will be time enough for talk when we're away."

#

The path to the bridge was conspicuously free of Elves. Even at night, there had always seemed to be someone up and about, and certainly a guard near the end of the bridge. Bell suspected they owed this to Arwen. Lord Elrond's daughter saw much-more than most suspected, Bell thought. If she'd spoken to Gandalf, she might well have seen to it that the company had a clear escape from The Last Homely House.

Thorin led the way across the bridge. Bell swallowed down her nerves and followed along in the midst of the swarm of Dwarves. Bilbo walked just ahead of her. They didn't speak until they'd made their way across and most of the way up the long path on the side of the valley wall. There, Bilbo paused and looked back, longing written across his open features.

"You'll see it again, Bilbo," Bell said.

Dwarves passed by behind them, their breath fogging in the chill morning air.

"I do hope so, Bell," he said. "I do hope so."

"I suggest you keep up, Master Baggins," said Thorin.

"Yes." Bilbo shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away from the sight of Rivendell, the first rays of dawn turning its pale arches to gold. "Of course."

Bell looked up and caught Thorin's eyes. He gave her a brief nod and gestured her ahead. She went, grateful to know he was behind her, although he maintained a distance of a few paces, while they walked along this stretch of the trail that clung to the steep valley wall like moss to a tree.

A hawk drifted past on a rising thermal. The sunlight lit its wings so they looked like molten glass. Bell tried not to think about the fact that she was _above_ it, and spared a moment to be grateful she had no wings and would never have to fly.

#

The company hiked on throughout the day, coming out at last onto broad, rolling foothills. Alpine meadows clung to the rock, and copses of evergreen trees speared skyward. Bees flitted from flower to flower. Their incessant buzzing set Bell's toes on edge, but the clean, crisp air sang through her veins and, despite the unaccustomed weight of the pack and the lack of real sleep, she felt lighter than she had since leaving Hobbiton.

Once they had put distance between themselves and the valley of Imladris, the Dwarves brightened. They spoke of the hidden clue revealed in the moon-runes. Of the piles of gold and jewels they expected to find in the long-abandoned halls of Erebor. Many of the Dwarves had never seen the fabled halls. They were too young, or had come from other kingdoms, but every one of them had tied their dreams to this quest-a chance to reclaim the glory of the Dwarves of old, when they were more than wanderers and had a place to truly claim as their own.

Thorin alternated between circulating amongst the men, listening to their banter and sometimes laughing along, and scouting the trail ahead. He did not seek out Bell, although she often found him watching her from over the head of whichever Dwarf he was speaking with. It didn't surprise her. Always, when he was in the presence of his men, he'd maintained a different air than when they were alone. Higher walls, that she now saw he wore as a shield. Only in solitude did he allow those walls to drop.

It was enough for her that she was with him. With all of them.

Bofur played a sprightly tune on his flute. Kili and Fili danced about, joining arms at the elbow and spinning around, faster and faster until Fili spun away, lurching dizzily and clinging to his head. Kili raised his hands above himself in a gesture of victory and bowed in Bell's direction, with only a hint of being off-balance.

For once, his antics didn't set her on edge. She smiled fully and joined in the applause.

As the day drew towards late afternoon, the Misty Mountains loomed larger. Sharp, dark spires knifed skyward. Dark clouds hung in the passes, and patches of snow clung to some of the less-steep ridges. Indeed, they had hiked past a few snowfields already. They'd managed to skirt along them, without having to cross, for which Bell was grateful. Hobbit feet were sturdy, but hobbits weren't mountain creatures and the few times it had snowed in the Shire, she'd learned that, while she didn't lose any toes to frostbite, being barefoot in snow was a recipe for a good deal of discomfort.

They came across a bowl-shaped depression, its edges lined with pine trees, and a small tarn in the center. The tarn's turquoise blue waters sparkled with the setting sun.

"We'll camp here for the night," Thorin said. "I don't like the look of those clouds in the mountains. Tomorrow will be soon enough to try to cross."

Grateful for the early respite, Bell helped Bombur get out the cooking gear while the rest build a fire-pit, laid out the bedrolls, and Oin and Gloin worked on creating a lean-to shelter, just in case the rains decided to come down from the mountains in the night.

It was a comfortable evening, though chilly. Arwen had not forgotten to pack Hamfast's cloak that Bell had worn from the Shire. She pulled it out and tied it on, then set about creating supper for a company of hungry Dwarves.

While she worked, she saw Thorin disappear up the trail. He had not returned by the time dinner was served, so she took a bowl of stew and a spoon and, when no one was watching, slipped off after him.

She didn't have to go far. Thorin stood on a rock overlooking the pass that rose into the mountains. One hand was on his waist, the other rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I thought you might want some food," Bell said, by way of announcing herself.

Thorin looked back at her and smiled, although his face did not fully relax. "Thank you. I'm sorry to put you out of your way."

"I'm not out of my way. Here," she handed him the bowl.

He took a bite of the steaming stew and chewed, his eyes distant.

"Something's bothering you," she said.

Thorin squinted towards the mountains. "Something doesn't feel right. Like the rocks are trying to tell me something, but I've lost the ability to understand them."

"Did you ever understand them?"

"No. Sometime it can seem that a Dwarf understands the mountain's soul, but no, we cannot speak with them."

"Then don't try. Tomorrow will bring what it will. Brooding over it won't help."

Thorin sighed and turned away from the dark vista. "I'll feel better when Gandalf is with us again."

"We all will."

He took her hand and held it up in front of him. A shadow danced behind his eyes. "Has anyone ever taught you the places where a man is vulnerable?"

"Vulnerable?"

"Here is one. The fleshy spot between the thumb and index finger." He touched the spot on her hand. "Squeeze here and the pain will make most thinking creatures release whatever they're holding."

Bell tried to shrink back, but Thorin held her fast.

"You need to know these things, Bell. Whether you think you can use them or not."

She bit her lip. "All right. What else?"

"The eyes. The instep." He grazed his finger over the hollow just behind her elbow. "A sharp strike here can deaden the nerves in the hand."

His hand traveled up her arm to the base of her throat. "This place is vulnerable, especially on a man."

Bell shivered, both at the light brush of his hand against her skin and the thought of ever having to strike another living creature.

"Also, on a man," Thorin continued, his voice gravelly, "his . . . intimate parts."

A furious blush tore over Bell's face. She tried to turn away, but Thorin caught her face in his hand. His calloused fingers were rough against the soft skin of her cheeks.

"Thorin, you're frightening me."

"Then make me let go."

"Please."

"I just told you how. If you want me to let go, you make me do it."

Bell's lips trembled. She reached for the hand trapping her face and pressed her thumb into his palm, her fingers into the space beside his thumb.

"Harder."

His face was inches from her own, his blue eyes dark and dangerous.

Bell squeezed with all of her strength.

Thorin winced and released her. "Good," he said, rubbing the tender spot with his other hand. "Very good."

"I don't understand."

"You have to learn not to hesitate, not even when you're afraid. I'm sorry I frightened you, but this is a lesson you must be taught."

Bell took a step backward, her hand touching her cheek. A metallic taste bloomed on her tongue, cold sweat on her neck.

Thorin tilted his head, and reached a hand towards her, but when she flinched away, he let it fall. "I am truly sorry, Bell."

"Thorin! Are you up here?" Kili's voice reached them before he stepped out of the trees. "Oh, there you are. I was going to ask if you've seen Bell, but apparently you have."

Bell retreated towards Kili.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, apparently sensing the air of tension.

"Yes," said Bell, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. Thorin was right. She did need to learn this, and he hadn't actually hurt her. "Yes, everything's fine."

Thorin picked up the stew bowl. "Bell was kind enough to bring me my supper. Take her back down to the rest, Kili. It's too dark for her to be walking alone."

"Of course, Uncle. Come on, Miss Goodchild. Watch your step, there are roots in the trail."

Bell followed after Kili, but couldn't help looking behind. From the haunted look on Thorin's face, she thought he might feel worse than she did.

#

**Author's Note: Next installment - on to the Misty Mountains!**


	17. Chapter 17

Thorin did not return to the camp until the moon hung directly overhead. The company should be sleeping by then, and he would not have to speak with anyone. A black mood weighed him down, and he didn't trust himself not to snap. Better far to keep the night's watch with the owls. He only wished he was possessed of their keen senses. Then he might be able to pin down the source of his overwhelming sense of unease.

Weariness finally drew him back down the dark trail. The fire's amber glow illuminated the drowsing company. The small bundle that was Bell lay some distance from the rest, partway up the sloping edge of the depression. From the beginning, she had slept apart from the others, for the modesty of everyone, but it didn't feel right here. There was no cliff wall to guard her back, only a wide expanse of emptiness leading out onto the open meadows.

Thorin slipped quietly into the midst of the company and found his bedroll. Gathering it in his arms, he moved away, past Bell and a bit further up the slope. If any danger were to come upon them in the night, she would not be the first thing to be found.

It was cold, and Thorin felt sapped from the long nights with little sleep. He set Orcrist close to hand, wrapped himself in the bedroll, laid his head on his arm, and soon dropped into slumber.

#

Bell woke to Nori shaking her shoulder. "Wake up, Miss."

She rubbed her eyes. Her hand came away wet. It was still very dark. "What is it?"

"The rain's here," he said. "Come down to the shelter."

Bell wished she were the sort who could open their eyes and be ready to face the world, but she'd always needed some time to come to full alertness. At least the rain explained her wet face. "What time is it?"

"About half an hour past dawn, not that you could tell it," Nori replied. "Like as not, we'll be in this soup for the better part of the day." He scratched the side of his nose. "They don't call them The Misty Mountains for nothing."

Bell managed to drag herself out of her bedroll and stumbled down the slope to join the others, stuffed into the small shelter Oin and Gloin had pieced together the night before. They shifted to make space for her, although there was little to spare. She sat cross-legged, wedged between Kili, Bifur, and Ori. They passed around a sack of rolls and dried fruit, munching in near silence.

The dense huddle of Dwarves warmed Bell. She peered out into the heavy clouds and slow, steady rainfall, nibbling at her roll. Where was Gandalf? How long would he remain at Rivendell? The company felt oddly empty without the wizard's presence.

Thorin sat near the front edge of the shelter, running a sharpening stone along Orcrist's cutting edge. He held it up for inspection and ran a finger down the blade. An upwelling of red blossomed on the pad of his finger. Apparently satisfied, he re-sheathed the weapon. "We leave in fifteen minutes," he said, getting to his feet. "See to it there's no sign we've been here."

Bell had hoped to have a chance to speak with him. To tell him that she understood why he had done what he did the night before. That she wasn't angry with him.

It wasn't to be. There was no chance for privacy.

Instead, Bell observed the Dwarves as they went about their camp-breaking duties, paying close attention to who did what and what was put where. It was time she was able to help by doing more than staying out of the way. At the last, Gloin and Oin came to disassemble the shelter. Bell knelt at the bottom end and untied the straps holding the cloth to the stout tree limbs they'd gathered to serve as a frame. Together they detached the large cloth and folded it into a thick square that Gloin shoved into Oin's pack.

The work was done before the fifteen minutes Thorin had given them was up. Bell stood next to Bilbo, already feeling sodden, despite Hamfast's cloak. If ever she were to take up adventuring again, she'd make the time to craft a heavier cloak, one that might have a chance of keeping her dry for longer than it took to get from her door to Bag End.

Thorin hefted his pack and adjusted his weaponry around it. "Move out."

#

Bell had harbored a flicker of hope that once they climbed onto the higher passes they might come out from the weather, but the increasing downpour throughout the day quenched that flicker to a forlorn wisp of smoke. Her legs ached from the climb. The steep path gave no respite. While the Dwarves did not race up the trail, neither did they slow. Bell's lungs struggled to meet the needs of her body. Her chest burned and the cold air stung her throat when she sucked in each shallow pant.

She looked behind her for Bilbo. Was he struggling as well? Or was she alone in being so completely unequal to the task of climbing over mountains? It didn't matter, she supposed. She would keep walking until her legs gave way beneath her. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," her father had said. Bell didn't think he'd ever faced anything quite like this, but she repeated the words time and again in her mind. _Stronger. This is making me stronger_.

She pressed on.

#

Thorin paused on a broad stretch of trail and squinted through the rain at the path ahead. The clouds had grown so dark it felt as if they hiked through twilight. As they had climbed, the mountainsides grew steeper until, just ahead, they plummeted downward at a nearly vertical angle. Only a narrow ledge ran along the cliff face, a seam of slick rock that was barely wide enough for a Dwarf to pass.

Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding him, followed by a rumble of thunder so loud Thorin winced.

"We've got to find shelter!" Dwalin called from the back of the group.

"There is no shelter," Thorin shouted to be heard over the thunder's roar. "Not behind us. We have to move on."

His gaze swept over the company, drenched and bedraggled to the last man. "The way ahead is perilous," he said. "Keep an eye on the hobbits. They don't have our mountain sense."

Bell had leaned back against the wall, her face pale, teeth chattering. Thorin had seen her fear of heights in Rivendell. What lay ahead was worse. Much worse. "Bell," he said. "Come behind me. Dori next." He might not look it, but there was no stronger Dwarf that Dori. "Dwalin, look out for Bilbo."

Bell edged towards Thorin, her eyes widening when she saw the trail ahead.

"Stay close to the wall," he said. "Take any handhold you can find. Watch your footing." Her eyes turned to his, panic hiding just behind their blue surface. "You can do this."

She pulled back her shoulders. A runnel of rain ran down her face and dripped off the point of her chin. "I can," she replied, past clattering teeth.

Thorin hoped they were both right. There wasn't any other choice. He stepped out onto the ledge.

Movement was slow. Treacherous. He fought the slick ground with every step. Time and again he looked behind him. Bell kept moving, her skin as white as calcite, save for ruby splotches on her cheeks. Her fingers clung to crevices in the stone so hard the skin on her knuckles went nearly yellow.

Pride at her bravery warmed him. She might fall apart later, but in the moment, she did what was necessary.

A shout shot up from behind. Bilbo had slipped. His arms pinwheeled and he teetered over the precipice. Dwalin grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him back against the cliff wall.

How much farther did this cursed trail stretch? Exposed to the elements, frozen and drenched, they were too vulnerable. This had to end.

Something massive and dark flew overhead. A loud crack split the air and the ground trembled.

"Look out!" Bombur yelled.

Thorin looked up in time to see a hail of stones tumbling towards them. He swung backwards towards Bell, clinging to the mountainside with one hand. She ducked down and he flung himself over her back, shielding them both with a raised arm.

Shouts rose up all around. The rocks fell past. Only a few small stones bounced off of Thorin's back. He looked behind. Everyone was still there, and none appeared to be injured. Bofur straightened and pointed towards the far mountainside. "Stone giants!"

_Hammer and stone_. There were legends of such creatures, but Thorin had dismissed them as just as much a fantasy as the statues that guarded Erebor coming to life. If only they were.

Another thunderclap resounded, only this time, there was no lightning. A second giant loomed into view. Its massive hand reached over their heads and tore off a chunk of the mountain, breaking free another shower of stones.

Bell shifted beneath him. A loud metallic clang sounded just above his skull. He turned his head and saw the inside of a round shield, held up by a small white hand. Her arm was nearly around his neck, her eyes wide.

When the stonefall had passed, Thorin bellowed down the line, "We have to keep moving. Go!"

He pulled Bell to her feet and took one step further down the trail before it swung out from the mountain, taking him with it.

#

The mountain moved. Bell's stomach surged into her throat. Impossible. This wasn't happening. None of this was happening. A dream. A dream so real she could smell the deep ozone scent of split rock.

"Fili!"

Kili's shout drew her eyes. A wide rent appeared between the two brothers. The cliff was splitting in two. She turned her head upwards. What had moments before been a mountainside was now alive. Jagged spires rose from the giant's head like a terrible crown.

The path beneath her moved again, down and back. She lost her balance, tipped out over the abyss. A scream tore from her throat. Then Thorin was there, hauling her back, bracing himself behind her, his arms and legs wedged against the stone like an iron cross.

The giant took another step. Bell lost all sense of equilibrium. She clung to the mountain with her one free hand. The shield hung useless from the other. The only things in the world were dizziness and rock and Thorin's body pressing her into the giant's colossal limb.

A massive jolt nearly dislodged her. Thorin shouted, nearly in her ear, "Now! Go!"

He dragged her ahead, and shoved her onto a slightly wider ledge. One by one a pile of Dwarves swarmed after. Dori, Oin, Gloin, Nori, Balin, Bifur, and Kili. Kili lurched towards the edge, shouting his brother's name.

Thorin pulled him back. "No, Kili!"

The rest of the Dwarves, and Bilbo with them, were still on the giant's other knee. Another enormous boulder arced through the rain and smashed into the giant's head. Stone shards sprayed from the impact. The giant lurched, swayed, stumbled.

Bell watched in horror as Bilbo and the rest swung past and vanished. With a shudder, the giant crashed into the mountain, then tumbled down, down into the valley below.

"Fili!" Thorin shouted. He raced along the pathway towards the spot where the rest had disappeared. The remaining Dwarves chased after him. Bell replaced her shield on her back and followed after, as fast as she dared.

She came around a sharp bend and found a pile of Dwarves. Those who were standing yanked their companions to their feet, thumping them on their backs. Kili smashed Fili in a fierce embrace.

Bell edged closer. Dwalin's voice rose out of the tumult, "Where is Mister Baggins?"

A strange, muffled whimper rose up from just beneath Bell's feet. She glanced down. Fingers clung to the edge of the ledge, slipping even as she watched.

"Bilbo!"

Bell dropped to her knees and reached over the edge, grabbing Bilbo around the wrists. He looked up at her with a wild expression, then lost his grip and plunged downward, dragging Bell with him.

There wasn't time to panic, even as she toppled headfirst off the ledge. Hands grabbed her legs, clinging to her ankles.

Bilbo dangled, fingers digging into her wrists, his face ashen.

Bell was being torn in two. Her shoulders screamed in pain. Her fingers throbbed with the beat of her pulse. She was going to die. Here on this mountain. Beneath Bilbo there was only air and nothingness. It was all she could do not to vomit. She closed her eyes.

Bilbo's fingers slipped down her wet wrists. Her fingers tried to tighten, but Bell had no more strength left to give. She gritted her teeth and prayed.

Suddenly, the intolerable weight was gone. Bell's eyes flashed open. Thorin clung to the cliff beside her, hauling Bilbo up by his jacket. With a grunt, he hefted the hobbit up into the waiting hands of the Dwarves.

"Dori, now," he shouted up towards the ledge.

Bell felt herself rising, inch over inch. The sharp edges of the rock gouged into her. She didn't care. Thorin scrambled up, reaching the top just before she did.

A thicket of hands grabbed her by the belt as soon as it came into reach, and then she was up, hauled backwards, safe in the arms of Dori, Nori, and Gloin. She sagged against Nori's chest, struggling to breathe.

Thorin pulled Bell to her feet and crushed her to his chest. His breathing was ragged.

Bofur shook his head and let out a relieved laugh. "I thought we'd lost our burglar."

Thorin pulled back from Bell, keeping one hand tight on her arm. He glared towards the hobbit, where he stood surrounded by a fistful of Dwarves. "He's been lost since he left the Shire," Thorin growled. "He should never have come."

#

**Author's Note: As far as visuals, I don't think anything in the movie was more awe-inspiring to me than the stone giants. Truly amazing stuff.**

**I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I was down with an unfortunate stomach bug yesterday and I didn't think I could give this chapter the attention it deserved. Feeling better today, and hopeful that this worked out all right.**

**Also, thank you for the many comments. Learning what's working and what isn't helps mold me into a stronger writer. Empress of Cornwall, I love to hear that you can 'hear' the characters speaking the words. I try very hard to get the 'voice' right.**


	18. Chapter 18

"There's a cave up ahead," said Oin.

The stone giants had moved off a short distance, but the thunder of their mighty stones was too close for Thorin's comfort. This, he thought, was what he had sensed. The trembling of the earth beneath the stone giants' colossal feet. Almost imperceptible at a distance, but wrong enough to give him warning, if he'd had the understanding to listen.

"Make for the cave," he said.

It wasn't far. The trail had widened enough that there was room for two to walk abreast, and Thorin kept Bell firmly placed between him and the mountain. She stumbled ahead in silence, almost wraith-like. She hadn't uttered a sound since calling out Bilbo's name before Thorin nearly lost her over the edge of the precipice. If not for Dori's quick reflexes . . .

He couldn't think about it. Not here. Not now. Not without being overwhelmed with the desire to throttle Mister Baggins or cradle Bell so close she would never leave his arms.

They stepped through the cave's ragged threshold into a dark space, blessedly dry. "Scout it out." Thorin slung his pack off. "All the way to the back. It's rare for caves in the mountains to be unoccupied."

"Oin, come get the firewood out of my pack," Gloin called to his brother.

"No fires," Thorin said. "Where there are giants, there may be worse things lurking, and Gandalf warned me there were dangers loose in the Misty Mountains."

There were a few grumbles among the company, but when Fili reported back that there was no sign of any other living thing inside the shelter, they set about putting out their things to dry and burrowing into the warmth of the bedrolls.

"Wait here," Thorin said, leaving Bell standing near the wall. He undid his pack and set out his bedding. Tonight, Bell was not going to sleep apart from the rest. He'd put her bedroll near his. She'd be warmer there, and he could keep an eye on her.

"Miss?" said Ori. "Miss, is everything all right?"

Thorin looked back. Everything was not all right.

Bell stood near the wall, silent as death. The red patches on her cheeks had fled. Nothing now remained but stark whiteness. She'd been shivering with the cold, but even that motion was gone. Thorin might have taken her for a statue, but then one hand flinched weakly towards the stone wall.

Thorin closed the distance between them. "Bell?"

Her eyes rolled back in her head. Thorin caught her as she crumpled, lifeless and limp, a dead weight in his arms. He scooped up her legs and carried her to his own bedroll, pointedly aware of the eyes of his companions watching.

Kneeling down, he settled her lower limbs on the ground, supporting her around her shoulders. "Balin, help me get her pack off."

The older Dwarf hurried to help and, between them, they divested the unconscious girl of her pack. "She's cold as frost," Balin said. "We've got to get her warm."

Bilbo inched closer, worry written across his face. "Can I help?"

"You've been more than enough _help_, Bilbo Baggins. Go to bed." The company stood circled around them, so many watching eyes. Bell wouldn't want everyone to see her weakness. "Everyone, go to bed. What are you standing about staring for? Bofur, take the first watch."

She should have regained consciousness by now. Should have come blinking back to the world. Shaken, but well.

"Get her into the blankets, Thorin," Balin urged. "You, too. You'll warm her more quickly."

Thorin hesitated. "I can't." It wasn't right. She hadn't invited him to take such a liberty.

"You can and you will, unless you want one of the rest of us to do it. If we don't get her thawed her life is in danger." Balin pointed his finger at Thorin's chest. "Both of you. In the blankets. Now."

Thorin wasn't used to being commanded, but Bell felt like a block of glacier ice against his arm. Balin was right. Thorin picked her up long enough to open the bedroll beneath them, and settled them both inside. He pulled her close, rubbing his hands over her back, her arms, anything to get her blood flowing.

Balin unstrapped Bell's bedroll and unfolded it over them. "Try to wake her," he said. "The longer she sleeps when she's this cold, the greater the danger."

"I know, Balin," Thorin snapped, worry making him harsh. "I'm not a fool." If she didn't wake soon, he'd have a fire built and damn the danger.

Balin slipped away, leaving Thorin and Bell a small island in the midst of a sea of Dwarves. The rest either slept or pretended to. Thorin didn't care which. He pulled the blankets over their heads, trapping the heat inside. Beneath the layers of two bedrolls, the air around them quickly warmed. "Bell," he whispered, brushing back the hairs that had escaped from her braid. "Wake up."

It was so dark, he could hardly see her. Could only feel the icy skin of her face. He felt utterly helpless, just as he had when he'd watched her plummet over the edge and he was too far away to save her. He cradled the back of her head, fingers supporting her neck. Over and over he whispered her name, his breath warming her cheek, counting the seconds in the back of his mind.

He thought he felt a slight warming in the skin under his hand. Bell's breathing shifted from a shallow, barely perceptible in and out to a long, shuddering inhalation. He swept his hand over her face once more and, this time, felt her eyelashes flutter against his palm. A quiet sob shook through her.

"Shh," Thorin soothed, "you're all right. You're all right."

Shivers shot through her, vibrating her whole body. She whimpered and tried to burrow deeper into him. Thorin pressed his lips to the top of her head, relief flooding him. The shivers were a good sign. Her body was trying to warm.

"Why's it so dark?" she mumbled.

"To get you warm. Don't be afraid."

"You're here," she tipped her face towards him. "'m not afraid."

Thorin swallowed convulsively. He didn't deserve that sort of trust.

He hadn't been close enough to save her. Hadn't been close enough to save his grandfather. Had never even managed to discover what had become of his own father. The long trail of failures to protect the people he loved haunted Thorin, despite all he'd accomplished. The painful victory outside Moria's gates. Building a place of safety and stability for the remnants of his people in the Blue Mountains. None of it mattered.

"Are you getting any warmer?" he asked, to distract them both.

"Think so. Almost feel m'fingers." Her words were blurred, as they so often became when exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Bell lifted her arm and touched her fingers to the side of his face. He nearly hissed at the chill but, almost immediately, a low fire kindled beneath the gentle pressure of her hand. Suddenly he was fully aware of her body clasped tight against him. Her soft, feminine form against the hard planes that life had sculpted into him.

Bell's lips were only inches from his, soft and cold. The blankets gave the illusion of privacy. Thorin thought momentarily of fighting off the desire to kiss her. She was vulnerable. Afraid. It wasn't right to take advantage.

Desire won the battle over honor. He lowered his head slowly, so slowly, giving her the chance to protest.

Her hand dropped from his cheek and she exhaled a soft snore.

Thorin froze. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Timing, Thorin Oakenshield. Ever you have the worst timing in Middle Earth_.

He turned his head to the side and pressed a soft kiss on her cool cheek. At least now he could feel a hint of warmth surfacing in her. It should be safe to let her sleep.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he readjusted himself so that Bell's head was pillowed comfortably on his arm and he could wrap himself firmly around her. Her gentle breathing softened his tense body until he, too, drifted into slumber.

#

Battle cries speared through Thorin's skull. The earth ran red beneath his feet. Guttural Orcish roars surrounded him on all sides.

He charged through the carnage towards Thror and the pale Orc, shouting a challenge to the skies but, no matter how hard he ran, the distance between himself and his grandfather remained the same. Close enough he could see every swing of the Defiler's weapon, but too far to reach his grandfather's side. Too far to block the fatal blow. Too far, the distance lengthening and stretching with every failed stride.

Time slowed until it balanced on the edge of a knife. Azog's blade rose, blazing like flame in the mocking sunlight, and swung in a fierce arc. Blood fountained from Thror's severed neck, drained from the head the pale Orc brandished with a victorious howl.

The Defiler's black eyes found Thorin, and his mouth curled up in a calculating sneer. With one toss, he sent the slain king's head cartwheeling through the fierce battle like a macabre toy. It landed at Thorin's feet and rolled to a halt, dead eyes staring sightlessly ahead.

But then they turned, piercing Thorin into immobility. "Why, Grandson?" the head asked, a trail of blood dripping from the corner of its lips. "Why didn't you save me?"

Thorin stared back, lungs frozen, mouth moving soundlessly, trapped in the power of those dead eyes.

A quiet voice penetrated the red fog that held him prisoner. "Where do you think you're going?"

#

Thorin jerked awake, cold sweat soaking his tunic. His chest rose and fell with sharp, painful breaths.

He clenched his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms. It had been years since he'd last been haunted by that dream, but he knew that pain was the quickest thing to bring him back from the crippling confusion and disorientation that went with it.

He squeezed until the pain made him hiss, the fog finally clearing from his mind. He was lying on his back, an unfamiliar weight draped over his arm. He turned his head and saw Bell's face, soft in slumber. He knew now where he was, but what had woken him?

Low voices came from over near the cave's entrance-Bofur and . . . Mister Baggins?

Looking down at Bell's peaceful expression, his mind flew back to what had come before. To the words he'd spoken in the rush of fear, masking itself as anger. They hadn't been warranted. It wasn't Bilbo's fault the stone giants had appeared. It wasn't his fault he'd been left dangling from the mountainside. It wasn't even his fault that Bell had tried to save him-foolish, impetuous Bell with her penchant for acting in defense of others, even if her own instinct for self-preservation might be suspect.

He shouldn't have said those things. In the morning, he'd find a chance to speak with the hobbit in private.

Then Thorin began to focus on the words they were saying. Bilbo was leaving. Now. In the middle of the night, onto a mountain peopled with giants that had nearly killed him. Bofur tried to dissuade the burglar, telling him he was only homesick.

Thorin considered finding a way to detach himself from Bell and speak to the hobbit himself, but then Bilbo replied. That the Dwarves were used to living this way-to being wanderers, without a home of their own-and Thorin changed his mind. If that was how Mister Baggins viewed them, then they were better off without him.

They did have a home. Erebor. A home they _would_ see again.

"What's that?" asked Bofur.

A pale blue glow shone out over the sleeping Dwarves. Thorin rolled onto his elbow. Bilbo's sword. Glowing.

He reached over Bell, grabbed up Orcrist, and slid the end of the sword free of its hilt. Blue.

"Wake up!" he bellowed, throwing off the blankets. A hissing sound drew his attention to the floor. Sand slid down through a seam that had not been there before. "Get up!"

#

Thorin's shouts startled Bell into full wakefulness. She raised herself on an elbow and saw a brief glimpse of Thorin, illuminated in a pale blue glow, his lips pulled back in a grimace.

Then she was falling.

Thorin made a wild grasp for her hand, catching her even as they plummeted. There wasn't even time to scream. Dwarves fell on all sides, a horrifying rain of flailing limbs and bodies being buffeted off of stone walls, slowing them just enough that they didn't break when they hit.

Bell's back collided with the wall, breaking her momentum. Thorin's hand was ripped away. Now she screamed, dropping again into nothingness.

Bombur pinwheeled past, his looped beard flying out over his head like a red halo. Kili bounced off a wall towards her. Bell reached for him, but missed his outstretched hands.

A thud and a groan sounded beneath her only moments before she came to a crushing halt, sprawled across a pair of legs, her face buried in a thick red beard. Someone else landed on her head, and she nearly choked on a mouthful of beard when she tried to suck in a breath.

"Up! Get up!" Thorin roared from somewhere below.

The weight on Bell's head rolled off and she scrambled to find her feet. Gloin, who had been beneath her, pushed her upright. He looked past her and his eyes went wide. "Get behind me, lassie," he said, shoving her to the back of a small round platform, surrounded by curved wooden stakes that looked disturbingly like a clawed hand ready to crush the contents of its palm.

"Weapons, lads!" Gloin shouted.

Bell reached for her shield, but her fingers came away empty. It was gone. Her mouth went dry.

A chorus of whoops and chitters rose up behind her. The Dwarves who had found their way to their feet tried to close ranks around her and the others still jumbled on the floor. There was no hiding from this. Bell turned to face their attackers.

#

**Author's Note: Phew. That was interesting to write. Please don't kill me. =)**

**One thing that bothered me in the film is that I don't remember either Orcrist or Glamdring glowing, but they are of Elven make, just like Sting, and it seems to me that they should. Hence, for purposes of this telling, they shall. **


	19. Chapter 19

A sea of creatures surged over a narrow plank walkway, so many Bell couldn't begin to count them. Their skin was gray, and they walked on two legs, but beyond that, their features, shapes, and sizes were so varied, she could hardly fathom that they were all members of the same race.

"Goblins," Dori shouted. "Teach them to fear Dwarvish steel, lads!"

But there were too many. They overwhelmed the battling Dwarves, many of whom had plummeted without their weapons. Only a few had taken them with them to their beds.

Bell huddled behind Bombur, trying to remain out of sight. Where was Thorin? She could hear him shouting, but his voice was growing dimmer. Was he captured? Where was Bilbo?

A particularly large goblin reached over the top of Bombur and picked up Bell by the back of her tunic. The fabric choked her. She reached up, grabbed the creature's hand, and dangled there, able to breathe, but no more.

"What's this thing?" the goblin asked, holding her up in front of its face. Long teeth curled from one side of its mouth, digging into its lower lip. "Not a Dwarf, is this."

Bell kicked at the creature's exposed chest. It swung her away before her foot could connect.

"We'll have none of that, Not-a-Dwarf," it said. "You'll go before the Great Goblin like the rest." It swung her over its shoulder and clamped its arm over her thrashing limbs.

The goblin loped off in the midst of the swarm. Bell looked around frantically. The Dwarves had been subdued or, if not subdued, manhandled into line. She caught a glance of Bilbo's curly head, but it vanished towards the ground so fast she almost thought she'd imagined it. She nearly called his name, but snapped her mouth shut. If he had a chance of escape, she wouldn't draw attention to him.

She bounced along, her head jostling against the goblin's rough back, his shoulder digging into her gut. Down a curving ramp, over a dizzying chasm, the creatures ran. Torches flared like fiery lichen along the walls, down and down so far she couldn't see the bottom.

Bofur followed just behind her, surrounded by goblins. He struggled against their grasping hands, but there were too many.

Bell twisted her neck, trying to see past the monster carrying her towards the Great Goblin. _What under the stars was a Great Goblin_? Where was Thorin? His voice had vanished, or been lost under the cacophony of the horde that swarmed down the passageways. Where did they all come from? It was like falling into an ant-hill, only these ants were so large some of them could squash her flat underfoot.

Still, she realized, the goblins hadn't killed them. If they had wanted to, the company would be dead. Bell clung to that realization and the hope that if they were not dead yet, there was still a chance to avoid becoming so.

Brightness shone from up ahead. The voices of the goblins merged together, taking up a terrible droning chant that echoed off the stone walls. They sang of cracking bones, chomping marrow, and the taste of flesh.

Bell thrashed against her captor's iron grip. Shoved her knee into his chest. It showed no sign of discomfort. Just growled and nipped at her thigh with its lopsided teeth. "Leave off, Not-a-Dwarf, or I'll gnaw your flesh before the Great Goblin knows to miss you."

She forced herself to stop fighting. To lie quiescent. The creature's stench clogged her nose. Her braid dangled down almost to the floor. Being upside-down-_again_, for the second time in so many days-her blood pooled in her skull, making her dizzy and ill.

The goblins' song rose to a crescendo. Bell turned her head to the side and found her companions clustered into a tight group, pinned in on all sides by the never-ending tide of goblins. Nori, Bifur, Bombur, Dwalin, Kili . . . A goblin shoved Kili from behind and the young Dwarf staggered forward. In the space that opened up behind him, Bell spotted Thorin.

She forced herself not to call his name. The Dwarves had gone silent, glaring at their captors, their hands twitching for weapons they did not hold.

Thorin scanned the company, his face fiercely focused. When he caught sight of Bell, he fought to force his way towards her. Goblins surged between them, beating him back. She jerked her head, biting down on her lip. _Don't_, she wanted to say. _It isn't worth it_.

A strange, deep voice with a lilting edge to it asked, "What have you brought me?"

"Dwarves, Your Greatness," a goblin replied.

"And a Not-a-Dwarf," her captor added, swinging around so that Bell was facing the front, still hanging over his shoulder.

She'd thought the goblin who carried her was large. Next to the creature perched on a carved throne as tall as the roof of Bag End, he was nothing.

_The Great Goblin_. A rotund, bulbous beast, built of muscle under a thick layer of fat. Pustules covered his gray skin and a massive goiter dangled from his neck.

"A Not-a-Dwarf?" the Great Goblin asked, rising from his throne and advancing towards her, head tilted far to the side, as if he were trying to see what she would look like upright. "What manner of creature might you be? Not Dwarf, not Man."

He came so close Bell could smell the scent of rot on his breath. Stretching out one finger, tipped with a fingernail as thick and long as a claw, he touched her face, traced her cheekbone back towards her ear. Bell tried to shrink away.

"Pointed ears. Some sort of Elf?" The fingernail pressed in against her temple. "We're no Elf-friends here."

"Get your foul hand off of her."

_Thorin_. _No. Don't draw his attention_.

"What's that?" The Great Goblin straightened and peered over at the rest of the company. "Who would give me orders in my own hall?"

The Dwarves stared back at him, arms crossed, and silent.

"Search them," the Great Goblin commanded, moving back towards his throne, his ponderous girth wobbling with each step.

Bell watched helplessly as the goblins rushed to obey the order. A few of the Dwarves still had small weapons on them. Oin's ear-horn was torn away. Thorin remained motionless as ungentle hands pried at him. Bell tried to ignore the hands that fumbled along her legs and her sides. For the first time, she was grateful she was belly-to-back with her captor.

The goblin's tossed the spoils of their plunder on top of a pile near the base of the Great Goblin's throne. A familiar circle of metal caught Bell's eyes. Her shield. The goblins must have gathered up all that fell with them and brought it to offer to their king.

The Great Goblin spun and pinned the captives with a gimlet stare. "Who are you? What is your business among my people? Spying?"

When none responded, he grinned. "Well then. If they won't talk, we'll make them squawk, won't we? Bring up the foe-render!"

Goblins howled and hooted. Bell pressed herself up on her hands. A complicated cart rolled forward over the walkway, studded with sharp metal blades, wooden arms pulled taut by heavy cords. Dark, dried blood painted its planks.

The companions straightened and pressed close in around each other, eyes darting between the torture device and each other, all save Thorin who still stared implacably ahead. The muscles at the sides of his neck were taut. He was strung as tightly as Kili's bow, ready to strike out in any direction.

The Great Goblin swung his gaze back to Bell. He pointed towards her, flesh hanging down from his arm. "Start with the little Elf."

Hands clawed at her legs, her arms.

"No . . . No!" Bell fought to climb higher up her captor, away from those grasping hands, but it was futile. He plucked her off his shoulder and held her in front of him. "I look forward to tasting a bit of you." He licked his lips, tongue sliming his protruding teeth.

"No!" came Thorin's voice, over the tumult of the goblins. He forced his way to the front of the crowd, catching Bell's frantic gaze, his own as hard as forged steel. "This company answers to me."

The Great Goblin held up a hand. The swarm stilled.

"Well, well," he said. "Thorin Oakenshield. Son of Thrain, son of Thror. King Under the Mountain." His lips twitched. "But, I forgot. You haven't got a mountain. Which makes you . . . nobody really."

Thorin stood with his shoulders back, chin high. Every bit the king this goblin would never be. Proud, even in desperate straits.

"I know someone," the Great Goblin continued, "who would pay dearly for your head. You know him, I believe."

Bell watched Thorin's face. His eyebrows inched closer together, hardly enough to notice if you weren't looking, but she saw confusion written there.

The Great Goblin pressed his advantage. "The pale Orc."

Denial slammed down behind Thorin's eyes like a helm's visor. "The Defiler died of his wounds long ago."

"Did he indeed? Well, I'm sure he'll be pleased to learn it." He closed the distance between himself and Thorin, looming over the Dwarf. "Oh, and when I said he'd pay dearly for your head, that's precisely what I meant. Just a head."

The Great Goblin reached out a hand and one of his minions placed an axe in it. "Goodbye, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under No Mountain."

Bell shrieked and tore one arm free of her captor's grasp. His throat was directly in front of her, naked and exposed. Gathering all of her strength, Bell slammed her fist into the vulnerable spot. There was a sickening crunch and then she was falling.

She hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the breath from her lungs. The world went dark, then exploded in a flash of light so bright it seared her vision. She flung up her arm to block the glare, but it was gone before she could complete the motion.

A familiar resonant voice echoed through the cavern. "To arms! Fight!"

_Gandalf_.

Bell staggered to her feet, trying to orient herself. The pile of weapons was nearby.

A brilliant flash of blue illuminated the platform. "Dwarves, to me!" Thorin shouted, brandishing Orcrist.

Bell raced towards the gleaming sword. Her shield lay atop the pile, reflecting Orcrist's glow. She jammed her arm into the grip and spun around. Dwarves gathered up their weapons all around her. Another radiant blue weapon flared to life.

"Biter!" the Great Goblin howled, "and Beater!" The goblins knew these swords. They had hewn many a goblin neck in their long years.

"This way." Gandalf led off down a walkway at a run. Dwarves raced past in his wake.

Bell turned to follow, but a thick hand grabbed her wrist and spun her around. She found herself face to chest with her captor. His free hand rubbed his throat. Red rimmed his eyes. "You'll pay for that, Little Elf."

The goblin bared his teeth, revealing that on the side that didn't overhang his mouth, they'd been filed to sharp points. He yanked her forward, biting down towards her neck.

An arc of blue slashed past over her head, so close she felt the breeze it left behind. The goblin's head hit the ground with a wet thud. Blood fountained over her-hot, sticky, horrifying.

Thorin's fingers wrapped around her hand. "Run."

She ran.

Down and down, tearing across rickety walkways, swaying bridges, down trails of stone. Dwarves spun, hacked, smashed, and tore at the goblin hordes. Bell kept her shield up, covering most of her face, leaving only enough space to see where she was stepping, and kept to a low crouch. More than once a Dwarf swung their weapon through the space over her head.

Gandalf led the way and Thorin guarded the rear, their Elven blades brilliant harbingers of death, but also beacons that screamed their location to the entire cavern.

It was hard to imagine that only hours earlier she'd been so cold she thought she would never be warm again. Perspiration coated her skin, mingling with the blood of her goblin captor. The sounds of fighting echoed all around her. She wanted to shove her hands in her ears. To block out the screams. The clanging steel. The sickening squelch of blades sinking into flesh.

She ran.

"Gandalf!" Thorin shouted over the din. "To the left! I can smell fresh air."

The wizard shifted his course, out over a bridge that dangled over nothingness. It trembled and quaked under their feet. Memories of the stone giant flooded through Bell. She nearly dropped to her knees and clung to the floor, but Thorin pushed her ahead, his hand on the small of her back. He wouldn't let her fall.

Fili waited just ahead, one hand outstretched. Bell grabbed it and let him swing her past him onto a separate stretch of bridge. She noticed too late that it was dangling from a series of ropes. As soon as Thorin set foot on the boards, Fili slashed through the rope holding it in place and the bridge swung towards the far wall.

Thorin wrapped the arm that held Orcrist around a rope and grabbed Bell around the waist with the other. The hard weight of his oak shield dug into her ribs. When the bridge smashed into the wall on the far side and Thorin held her fast, Bell was grateful for the pain.

"Go!"

The bridge's swing had bought them a short respite. They ran full tilt down the trail, until they reached one last walkway, perched atop a wooden scaffold. Gandalf led them forward. Bell's lungs burned from so much running.

With a roar and shattering of boards, the Great Goblin burst up through the walkway. His goiter swung like a pendulum from his chin. He raised a mace as tall as Bell and smiled. "This is the end of your road."

Gandalf lunged and buried Glamdring to the hilt in the Great Goblin's chest. Its blue light vanished, subsumed in the monster's flesh.

"I think not," said Gandalf.

He wrenched the sword free.

The Great Goblin wavered, staring down at the hole in his chest unbelievingly. He lifted the mace again, staggered, then toppled backward where he'd come from. His massive bulk hit the scaffolding and the wood gave a great heave, groaned, then snapped at the edges like twigs in a storm.

The walkway slid down the steep slope, picking up speed. Bell shrieked and fell to the ground, clinging to the boards so hard she lost feeling in her fingers. The wind tore her hood back from her head. Dwarves shouted, grabbed at anything they could hold on to. Thorin dropped down beside her, one arm pinning her to the planks.

She couldn't watch. The fall felt like it lasted forever, punctuated by jolting shocks as they crashed into the walls. Bell was certain one of the hits would flip the whole walkway and they'd be tossed free, or crushed beneath it when it finally landed. She couldn't breathe.

The walkway and scaffolding landed with a jarring impact. Bell's teeth knocked together so hard she would have taken off part of her tongue had it been between them. Thorin struggled to his feet and pulled her after him. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

Bell shook her head. It wasn't precisely true. She was battered on every part of her. Her lungs could barely take in air from being crushed when they landed. A sharp pain made it nearly impossible to bend her left elbow. Still, in the wide scheme of things, this was nothing. "See to the rest," she said.

Dwarves emerged from the wreckage, covered in debris. One after another they appeared, miraculously all alive, and unbroken. Kili's legs were trapped between two layers of planks. Thorin pulled up on the boards that pinned him down, while Fili dragged his brother out.

Kili, who was looking upwards, went pale. He pointed up along the crevice they'd fallen through. "Problem," he said.

Bell looked up and wished she hadn't. The goblins had caught them. They streamed down the steep cliff, every bit as if they were spiders. The Great Goblin's carcass hung over a projection above the company. The charging creatures parted around it like the ocean around an island, and swept down in a relentless tide.

"We have only one hope," said Gandalf. "Daylight."

Thorin pointed down the base of the subterranean ravine. "That way."

They ran.

The ravine narrowed, funneling into a tunnel barely wide enough for them to pass through single-file. Bell's elbow throbbed, the weight of the shield on her forearm almost too much to bear. Thorin ran behind her, his breathing harsh and ragged.

A sudden smell of pipeweed rushed past Bell. Her steps faltered. It smelled like Bilbo. Where _was_ Bilbo? She hadn't seen him since the goblins first attacked. Had she simply missed him in the chaos? She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Keep going," Thorin urged. "We're close."

The increasing volume of the goblins' cries convinced her. On and on they sped until the dimness of the tunnel gave way to a hint of light.

The company burst free of the mountain onto a sparsely treed hillside. Bell's lungs filled with the clean, pure air. The steep slope pulled her after the rest until, finally, they drew to a halt.

Bell sank to the ground, leaned on her good arm, and struggled to catch her breath. Gandalf muttered names, counting off Dwarves on his fingers.

He paused after the thirteen.

Bell looked up at the company. "Where is Bilbo?"

#

**Author's Note: Here's another spot where my film-memory is all blurry, so I went with my best guess, and what I needed to do to tell the story I want to. Also, I have to admit to not being especially keen on the Great Goblin's dialog in places and I don't think the company could have survived being crushed by him either, so I kinda fudged it . . .**

**I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see how many people are following and enjoying this tale. I'm so looking forward to continuing the telling through the end. I thought about pausing and waiting for the movies to catch up, but I don't think anything Peter Jackson does will be enough to derail the line of this story. I know how it ends. I've already outlined the final scene. Just have to find my way through the wilds to reach it. =)**


	20. Chapter 20

Thorin pulled a rag from a pocket inside his cloak and wiped the blood from Orcrist's blade. "I'll tell you where Mister Baggins is. He's been longing for his comfortable hobbit hole since the day we left. He saw his chance, and he took it."

Bell looked up at him, an incredulous look on her face. "No, he didn't. He wouldn't. Mister Bilbo honors his commitments, Thorin. Besides, I saw him on the platform where we fell."

"He wasn't with us by the time we reached the Great Goblin," Dwalin said, using the handle of his great axe as a staff to rest against. "I looked for him. He was my watch, after all."

Thorin ground his teeth together. He'd heard the erstwhile burglar's words to Bofur. There was no doubt in his mind what had happened. "He must have found a way to hide, then slipped away in the commotion. I'm sorry, Bell," he said, seeing the stricken look on her face. "Your Mister Baggins is long gone."

"Actually, no he isn't." Bilbo Baggins stepped out from behind a tree.

"Bilbo!" Bell staggered to her feet, ran the short distance between herself and her employer, and flung one arm around him, kissing him soundly on both cheeks. "Oh, I thought you'd been lost."

Bilbo flushed a startling shade of scarlet and, after patting her awkwardly on the back and stammering "Now, now, Bell, it's not such a very big thing," he pulled away and stepped past her into the center of the circle of Dwarves.

Thorin watched, unmoving, as the companions gathered around, congratulating the hobbit on his escape and asking how he'd done it.

"What does it matter how he did it?" asked Gandalf, with that mysterious lilt to his voice that slipped out when he thought he knew or suspected something more than the rest. "He's back, and that's the important thing, is it not?"

Thorin stepped forward. "It's important. What's more important is why?"

Bilbo gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I know what you think of me, Thorin. That I'm homesick. Well, I am. I miss the comforts of my hole. I miss my armchair and my books. But, you see, I have a home to be homesick for. Yours was taken from you. I will do what I can to help you take it back."

Bell stood behind Bilbo's shoulder, her blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears, a relieved smile lighting her blood-smeared face. He could almost read the, _See, I told you as much_, behind her gaze.

Thorin pressed his lips thin. Some day he might come to fully understand hobbits, but not this day. He stuffed the rag back into his cloak and moved to re-sheath Orcrist. A dull blue gleam rose from its blade.

"Is it supposed to be doing that?" asked Ori, a doubtful ring to his voice.

The unmistakable howl of a warg split the dull pre-dawn light, joined moments later by many others. Thorin's eyes turned up the slope. Dark, loping forms raced down the steep incline. He bit back a curse. "Out of the frying pan . . . "

"And into the fire," Gandalf finished the thought. "Run!"

Would there be no end to the running?

Thorin waved the company past him, and fell into pace behind, barreling down the hill. They had lost the trail far back on the slopes of the Misty Mountains. Where they ran to now, he did not know. All he could make out were more trees and then nothingness in the distance.

The wargs gained ground, their bays growing louder, close enough he could hear the sharp clack of their claws when they struck rock.

The nothingness ahead grew wider, with a sharper edge, until it resolved itself into the top edge of a cliff looking out over a wide forest so far below it was nothing more than a carpet of browns and greens. There was nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide from the wargs so close on their trail.

"Into the trees," Thorin shouted.

#

Bell stumbled towards the nearest tree and jumped. Its lowest branches were just out of reach. A pair of hands grabbed her around the waist and shoved her upwards. She grabbed hold of the branch with both hands, and tried to pull herself up, but her left arm refused, her injured elbow spearing pain towards her shoulder.

Another boost, this time from the bottoms of her feet, pushed her higher until she lay draped over the branch. Thorin scrambled up behind her, and Bifur on the far side of the tree. She struggled to her feet.

With a crash that shook the tree, a warg leapt towards them. Thorin slammed his boot down on the beast's nose. It fell back, snarling.

"Higher," Thorin ordered.

Bell was already moving. Her useless left arm hindered her, but she managed to climb up two more branches, then closed her eyes and clung to the trunk as the warg leapt again, and again, and again. Its claws scrabbled in the tree's bark.

The tree swayed dangerously.

Bifur shouted something in Dwarvish, that Bell couldn't understand. He gestured wildly with one hand.

A creaking groan shuddered up the tree. "Get ready," Thorin said from the branch just below her.

"Ready for what?"

The tree toppled and canted down towards the next tree. Bombur, Nori, and Balin, who were clinging in the other tree's branches came into focus as they fell towards them.

"That!" Thorin shouted. "Jump!"

It was madness, but madness was almost beginning to make sense. Bell watched the branches, gauged her leap, and flung herself towards Nori, who was closest. She hit the trunk and tried to wrap her arms around it, but again her left arm refused. She began to slide down. The bark dug into her skin. Then Nori had her by the belt and pulled her over to the branch on which he was standing.

"I've got Miss Goodchild," he called.

"Don't let go," came Thorin's voice, again from below.

More wargs joined in the attack, and Bell heard the harsh voices of Orcs mingled in among the wolf-kin's howls. The branches around her shook. Thorin's head appeared by her feet. The tree lurched.

"It's not going to hold," said Nori.

"No," Thorin agreed.

Bell swallowed down a surge of terror. The tree tilted precariously towards the last tree, growing precipitously from the very edge of the cliff. It was already festooned with Dwarves, and she thought she saw Bilbo's jacket. Gandalf sat near the top, his pointed wizard's hat clearly visible. There could hardly be room for more, let alone the six of them clinging to this tree.

The roots surrendered under the wargs' relentless assault.

It was harder to jump this time. The chasm loomed just ahead. If she misjudged, she'd fly past the mark and tumble off what felt like the edge of the world.

"Now!" Nori shouted.

Bell closed her eyes and leapt with him. Pine needles slashed at her face. Tiny branches, whip-sharp, cut at her.

They collided with the tree. The impact knocked her out of Nori's grasp. She fell, but came up hard, her belly on a lower branch. The breath fled from her lungs, but she wasn't falling into forever. A good result.

A pair of familiar boots appeared beside her, and Thorin yanked her upright. "Hold on," he said.

Something small, round, and glowing arced past overhead. It hit the ground and burst into flames. The wargs at the base of the tree retreated, snapping angrily at the fire.

Another missile, and another. Bell peered up through the branches and spotted several Dwarves holding glowing pinecones and launching them at the attackers. Gandalf lit one at the end of his staff and tossed it down to Fili.

A wall of flames flared around the base of the tree. Bell's heart raced. The wargs fell back. Her fingers curled in the thick creases of the tree's bark. This just might work.

Then a rumbling laugh, so low she almost felt it rather than heard it, filled the pre-dawn gloom.

#

Thorin tossed a pinecone through the flames and watched it burst, igniting a patch of dead grass. If the tree could only hold, they might survive this.

A laugh rumbled through the darkness. Thorin froze. He knew that laugh. It haunted his nights. Plagued his days. That laugh tasted of blood and sweat and bile. Impossible.

The wind gusted, blowing a path clear through the smoke. There it stood. A massive white warg, nearly twice again the size of the rest, and astride its back, the demon that he thought he'd slain so many years ago. As large as Thorin remembered, with more scars marring his pale skin, a vicious claw speared through what remained of his forearm, Azog the Defiler looked up at the treed Dwarves and laughed.

"So this is what remains of the line of Durin," the Defiler sneered. "A bird in a tree, his wings clipped."

Thorin ground his jaw closed. He wouldn't give the pale Orc the satisfaction of a response.

"Will you fly, little bird? Or do you wish to revenge yourself upon me for the death of your grandfather?"

Thorin's pulse leapt. One hand reached for Orcrist's hilt.

Something small and warm intercepted the motion, breaking the spell of the Orc's words. Bell's fingers wrapped around his. He glanced down at her. She shook her head. "Don't do it, Thorin," she said. "Don't give him what he wants."

Thorin steeled his heart. As long as the tree stood and Gandalf's flames burned, Azog could not harm them. He forced the memory of Thror's severed head behind him.

The tree began to groan and list. _No. This wasn't happening_.

"I offer you your chance, son of Durin."

With a terrible rending noise, the tree toppled out over the abyss. Thorin grabbed for the branch with one hand and Bell with the other, instinct stepping in where reason would have told him they were all lost. The tree slammed to a stop, hanging nearly straight out from the cliff wall.

Bell's scream and the shouts of the companions rattled through his skull. The strength of the jolt knocked Bell from the branch. Thorin clung to it with all his strength, Bell suspended by her belt from his other hand. He gritted his teeth and pulled her up. All the years of plying the blacksmith's trade had forged his arms to powerful strength. For the first time in his life, he did not begrudge those years. He pulled her steadily up until she was draped over the tree limb. She lay there panting, eyes closed.

Thorin glanced behind. The rest of the company dangled from the downed tree. Ori hung from Dori's feet. Even as he watched, Dori slipped, only just catching hold of Gandalf's extended staff.

The tree creaked again.

They couldn't stay here, trapped like rabbits in a hole. Every last man would die. Thorin couldn't stand by and watch it happen. Not again. Not at the hands of the monster that had stolen his family. Not while breath still remained in his body. If these were to be his last moments, he would face them fighting.

Thorin pulled himself fully onto the downed tree's trunk and rose to his feet. He slipped his arm into his shield, felt the oak's familiar weight. It had served him well the last time he had faced this foe. The wood was a friend and ally.

Unsheathing Orcrist, he picked up speed, letting his momentum catapult him towards the Defiler.

#

Bell watched helplessly as Thorin charged down the tree, through the wall of flames, and into the path of the Orc. So many wargs. So many Orcs. No matter how strong, nor how gifted a fighter, Thorin was going to die alone.

Not if she could help it.

Bell grabbed hold of the thick bark with her right hand and dragged herself along the tree limb until she reached the place where it forked from the trunk. With only one arm, she couldn't balance herself properly to rise. It didn't matter. Not now.

She wobbled to her feet and raised her eyes. The white warg surged forward. For a moment, Bell thought Thorin would escape, would find a way to slash the beast's foul hide, but something went wrong. The warg caught Thorin up in its massive jaws and flung him aside like a slab of meat.

"No," she breathed.

Thorin lay where he fell, not moving save for the sharp rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Bell pulled the shield off her back and fitted it to her left arm, ignoring the pain. She unsheathed Saradoc Brandybuck's knife, grasping it like an ice pick. Her vision tunneled until there was nothing but Thorin, injured and defenseless. An Orc stood over him, weapon raised, ready to slice down towards the Dwarf's exposed neck.

She ran. It was too far. She wouldn't be fast enough.

Something small and dark raced ahead of her, resolving itself into Bilbo Baggins. He slammed into the Orc in the same moment it swung, knocking it off balance.

Bell lengthened her stride and reached the fallen Dwarf. His eyes rolled back, his body limp. Bell fell to her knees at his side. "Thorin? Thorin!"

Blood seeped from holes where the warg's teeth had speared his flesh. He lay pale and unresponsive.

Another Orc raced towards him. Bell crouched over Thorin's head, shield raised. The Orc's weapon clanged off the shield. Its shuddering impact crashed down Bell's arm. She stifled a pained shriek. "Back! Get back!"

Bell stabbed at the Orc's legs, drawing blood. It growled and readied another strike, then toppled, an arrow protruding from its skull.

_Kili_.

More Dwarves surged into the fray. Bell curled herself over Thorin's lifeless form. Tears slid unheeded down her face.

A rush of wind blew past, sharp and unexpected. Bell glanced up. An eagle, so large its wings stretched as wide as the distance between the front windows at Bag End, shot past with a struggling warg clutched in its talons. It tossed the beast over the edge of the cliff, then swung back around.

The eagle winged straight for them. Bell rose to her feet, ready to stab at its toes, but the eagle curled its talons around Thorin so gently, she hesitated. Its wings beat, lifting it skyward.

_No_. Thorin wasn't going anywhere. Not without her. She launched herself forward and up. Her good arm wrapped around the top of the talon holding Thorin's chest. She scrambled up, clinging to the scaly limb with both legs.

Then they were rising. Up, up,up, until the figures still fighting on the hillside were nothing more that little dots.

Dizziness washed over Bell. She buried her face in the eagle's leg. Letting out a shriek, it swooped back down towards the battle. Bell's stomach dropped out at the bottom. Her legs and arm shook with the strength of her grip. One slip, and she was dead.

Thorin might be dead already.

She risked a glance below her. His head hung limply, dark hair flapping in the wind, eyes closed.

"Thorin, please wake up," she called, but the speed of the eagle's flight ripped her words away before they had a chance of reaching him. "Thorin?" Her words choked into a sob.

The ground speeding past below threatened to dizzy her beyond the strength to hold on. She closed her eyes again and let her terrified tears flow.

#

**Author's Note: I had a really difficult time writing this chapter, because the one that comes after kept jumping into the forefront of my mind. I am *so* looking forward to writing it. Most of it is already there, ready for me to wrangle it onto the page. Are we there yet? Can I write the next chapter now? Can I?**

**Also, while I loved the film, I'm looking forward to being out of the movie's arc. Leaves more room for my own imaginings of how things appear and play out. Creativity is fun!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: WARNING! If you haven't read the book and do not wish to be spoiled for what is to come, you should not read farther than this chapter.**

**Also, this fic is rated T, but I'm not thoroughly clear where the line gets drawn. It's possible this chapter veers a bit towards M, although I tried to be very careful. You are forewarned.**

#

Bell drifted in a haze of darkness and terror. She didn't dare open her eyes. How long ago it seemed that she'd looked down on the hawk outside of Rivendell and taken heart in the knowledge she would never have to fly. How little she had truly understood what waited ahead.

Her weary limbs quivered with the effort of clinging to the great eagle's leg. It swooped in a long downward turn. The motion tilted her until her back was angled out over the ground. She began to slip. Her throat clogged on a strangled scream.

The eagle flapped its mighty wings. A rush of wind blew past her and she heard the air fluttering the bird's long feathers. It stretched out its talons, momentarily motionless. Bell forced her eyes open.

They were inches from the ground. With a gentle motion, the eagle released Thorin. He slipped free, lying still as death on the reddish rock. Bell let go her grip and slid down, landing hard beside him.

Another blast of wind and the eagle veered to the left, winging out over the forest, still far below. More members of the eagle's flock soared near, carrying members of the company who clung to the birds' backs.

Too tired to stand, Bell crawled towards Thorin's head. She brushed back a strand of dark hair that had fallen across his face. "Thorin? Thorin wake up."

There was no response. Was he breathing? She held the back of her hand just in front of his lips, and thought she felt the softest hint of warmth. Her heart beat faster. He may still be alive.

All around her, she was vaguely aware of eagles swooping in to land, of Dwarves sliding down to the ground, their feet pounding towards where Thorin lay. She couldn't tear her eyes from his face. What if she missed some flicker of his eyelids? Some twitch of his lips that would kindle the flame of hope?

A swirl of gray robes announced Gandalf's arrival. He knelt on Thorin's opposite side, held his open hand, palm down, over the Dwarf's forehead. Waited. "He lives," Gandalf said after a short, listening silence. "I believe it is safe to wake him."

Bell took Thorin's hand and held it, while Gandalf muttered words in a language she didn't know.

For a moment, nothing changed, then Thorin's eyes flashed open. He gasped in a deep breath, torso lifting free of the ground, before sinking back down again, panting.

Bell's fingers squeezed so hard, she feared she might hurt him, but she couldn't help it. The sight of his dark blue eyes, the sound of his breath, flared through her so hot she thought she'd combust with relief.

Thorin pressed her hand in reply. He knew she was with him.

With a pained wince, he rolled onto one elbow and looked up at Gandalf. "Where is Bilbo?"

"I'm here," Bilbo said, stepping out from behind Bombur.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "What were you thinking? You could've been killed." Thorin slipped his hand out of Bell's grasp and pushed himself upright. Fili and Kili rushed forward to support their uncle.

"Did I not say you would never survive in the wild?" Thorin continued. "That you had no place among us?"

Bilbo glanced down towards his feet and ran one hand over his vest pocket.

Thorin shook his head and stepped free from Fili and Kili's grasp. He laid his hands on Bilbo's shoulders. "I have never been more wrong."

The sun broke over the horizon, glinting off of Thorin's dark hair, giving it a gilded edge. He turned his eyes eastward and let out a sharp breath. Longing etched itself over his face, and he took one step towards the edge of the pinnacle of rock on which they stood.

Bell followed his gaze. Far in the distance rose a solitary peak. The dawn caught the mountain's snowy slopes in shades of rose and salmon. The clean, dark lines of its ridges broke the sun's rays, casting a long shadow westward.

Bell staggered to her feet.

"Is that . . ." asked Bilbo.

"Erebor," Thorin finished the sentence, his tone reverent. "My home."

The Dwarves gathered around him, all staring out at the stunning vista. Bell alone held back. This was their moment. Their time to celebrate the first sight of their goal, and to remember that which had come before.

Bell found that the Lonely Mountain, while beautiful in the majesty of the dawn, filled her with little more than a dawning sense of dread. The dragon Smaug had not been seen in many years, but many years to a dragon was a little thing. Hardly more than the blink of an eye.

She turned away and began to take stock of herself. The shield was still fastened to her left arm, but she'd lost Saradoc's knife somewhere along the way. Perhaps, if Thorin did indeed manage to reclaim Erebor, she would ask him for a knife from the treasure hoard, to repay Master Brandybuck for the loss of his own. She had no intention of asking any reward for herself. This was not her quest.

Gandalf's voice rose over the hubbub of Dwarven chatter. "Thorin, your wounds need tending. The Carrock sits in the middle of the north branch of the Anduin. If I recall properly, someone carved a set of stairs out of the rock. It should make for an easy enough hike to the bottom, and there you will find fresh water, and perhaps other provisions. I note that none of you managed to keep hold of your packs."

Bell realized Gandalf was right. They were left with nothing more than the weapons they'd retrieved from the goblins and the clothes on their backs. It was a sobering realization. No food. No bedrolls. No medicine.

Her eyes sought Thorin. He was standing under his own power, but his face had a sallow cast to it and he swayed on his feet.

"You're right," Thorin said. "Lead the way."

#

Thorin followed after Gandalf down a long, twisting stair that looped around the steep edges of the Carrock. Each step sent pain shooting through the wounds in his chest and side. It was all he could do not to cry out, but he forced himself to bear the pain in silence. It would do the men no good to know how badly he was hurt. Better to let them believe he'd had a miraculous escape from his brush with death.

He knew better. While he thought none of his ribs had been cracked, the warg's teeth had bitten deep into his flesh. A warg's bite was a dangerous thing, not only from the punctures, but because they so often festered. Without Ori's pack, they had no medicine. No bandages. No way to treat the wounds.

Thorin tried not to think about it. There was nothing to be done save reach the river and let its icy waters wash away what they could.

If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warg's teeth, deep under his skin. Could see the executioner smiling down. And Bilbo Baggins flying out of the flames like an avenging . . . squirrel? It seemed impossible that one so small and so inexperienced could have saved his life, but that much he was certain he'd seen. The next, blurred memory, was Bell kneeling over him, the firelight flashing off of her shield, before he'd fallen into the well of unconsciousness. How had she survived? What was she thinking to put herself in danger for his sake?

She walked just behind him. He could hear the soft slap of her bare feet against the stones. She'd tried to go down ahead of him, but he'd shaken his head and motioned her behind. If he fell, he wouldn't risk taking her with him.

But he didn't fall, and the company reached the base of the Carrock. The river rushed past, shallow and quick, over a bed of stones that looked as if they'd been placed by the work of something other than the river itself. Along the shores of the island, low shrubs grew between copses of oak trees. Moss and strange weeds with delicate white petals grew in patches of shade.

"Bath time, boys," said Bofur with a broad grin. He began unlacing his tunic's neck. The others quickly moved to follow suit, apparently eager to wash away the remnants of the last days of battle.

Bell turned her back and wandered off after Gandalf, who was rooting about in the shadows.

Thorin considered joining the rest, but didn't want to reveal the extent of his injuries to prying eyes. While the company gallivanted in the swift-running Anduin, Thorin slipped away upstream until he found a secluded cove.

A boulder sat at the river's edge. Thorin slipped out of his cloak and levered himself down until he was half-sitting, his legs bracing him against a thin protrusion in the rock. He pulled of his bracers, then gingerly unlaced his leather vest. Pulling it off elicited a grunt, but the tunic was worse. The fibers clung to the edges of his wounds, in the drying blood. Carefully, so as not to make the injuries worse, Thorin detached the fabric and dragged the tunic over his head, gritting his teeth against the pain.

He didn't want to look at the wounds, but knew he must. Deep gashes ran over his right side, weeping blood. Worse, the skin around the punctures bore thin red lines, spiderwebbing across his flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut. Those lines were the first signs of infection.

He pushed himself up from the boulder, shucked his boots, dug the rag he'd used to wipe Orcrist from his cloak, and waded into the river, still wearing his trousers. The cold water shocked his system, stealing his breath. He forced himself further into the swift current until the water ran as high as his waist, then ducked himself fully under.

Coming up for breath, he scrubbed the rag until the water that raced past it ran clean, then dabbed at the wounds. If they were infected, he needed to break the scabs away to let the river do its work. When he could handle the cold no longer, Thorin forged his way back to the shore.

He leaned back against the boulder, closed his eyes, and let the sun's rays fall on his bare skin.

#

"What's that you're picking, Gandalf," Bell asked. The wizard had gathered a good sized pile of the little white flowers, carrying them in his upended hat.

Following him had seemed like a good choice, with the Dwarves shucking their clothes quite as if they had no care for the fact that there was a woman among them. She didn't begrudge them their bath, but she did wonder where Thorin had gotten to. Just before slipping into the woods after Gandalf, she'd looked for him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"This is called _athelas_," Gandalf said. "Would you be so good as to bring me that stone just there? The one with the depression in the top"

Bell spotted the bowl-shaped rock the wizard wanted and brought it to him.

"Thank you. Now, what we do," he grabbed a handful of the flowers and laid them in the depression, then picked up a smaller rock that just fit into his hand, "is grind these down. This stone will do well enough for a pestle."

Gandalf ground the flowers, stems, leaves, and all. They released a sweet scent, like roses mingled with honeysuckle. He continued until he'd mashed all of the _athelas_ into a pulp. Plucking a broad leaf from a nearby tree, he transferred the damp pile into the leaf and handed it to Bell.

"If you should happen to find Thorin Oakenshield, you should encourage him to use this salve. I think his injury may be more dire than he's letting on."

Bell blinked over at him, a sudden nervous lump in her throat.

"Don't look at me like that, Miss Goodchild. It won't help him. This," he stabbed a finger at the oak leaf, "will. Go," he waved her away. "I believe you'll find him to the north."

#

Bell hurried upstream along the riverbank. Gandalf's words had thrown her mind into a whirl. It would be just like Thorin to try to hide the severity of his wounds. _Foolish, prideful Dwarf_. If this _athelas_ would help him, she would see that he used it.

She stepped out from behind an oak tree and froze. Thorin sat just a little further up the bank, facing out towards the eastern shore. He was naked from the waist up, his soaking wet trousers hanging low on his hips. His hair hung in long, drenched waves, clinging to the skin of his back.

Bell's mouth went dry. She'd known he was strong, but seeing him there, the sculpted planes of his back, the swell of his biceps, even the corded muscles along his forearms, stopped her cold. He was beautiful. Somehow, she felt that it wasn't quite right to call a man beautiful, but with the sunlight glinting off the water droplets that dotted his skin, it was the only word she could call to mind.

She cleared her throat.

Thorin startled and glanced back over his shoulder. Seeing her, he rose and grabbed up his tunic, ready to pull it back on but, in that moment, Bell saw the wounds that picked out the shape of the warg's jaws, blood seeping down in thick red runnels towards his trousers.

"Wait." Bell held out her hand to keep him from putting the tunic back on. She picked her way over the loose rocks lining the bank until she was standing just in front of him. Extending her empty hand towards the deepest wound, careful not to bend her elbow, she hesitated, not touching.

"That doesn't look good," she said at last.

"It isn't." His voice sounded thick. She could hear the pain he held in check.

Viscerally aware of how near he stood, Bell held up the oak leaf. "Gandalf made a salve. He said it would help."

Thorin stared at it for a moment, then nodded. "There is already infection taking hold. If there's a chance to stave it off, I'll take it. I can't risk being laid low. Not now. Not with _him_ still living."

Bell unwrapped the leaf, releasing the _athelas'_ strong scent into the air. "That was him, wasn't it?" she asked. "The Defiler."

Thorin's eyes went distant. "It was. So many years he's followed me, stalking my dreams. At first, I thought I'd stepped into my own nightmare. Only this time it was worse. It wasn't just my grandfather I was going to lose. It was everyone. My companions. My nephews. _You_."

He shook his head ruefully. "I can't believe I'm telling you this. I've never spoke of those dreams to anyone. Not even Balin."

Bell dipped her fingers in the salve and tilted her head in silent question.

Thorin nodded.

She swallowed and dabbed her fingers into a wound on his side, just between two ribs. Thorin hissed and winced. "I'm sorry," Bell said. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"It's not your fault," he said through gritted teeth.

Bell hurried to tend to the next wound. Her fingers caught in the curly dark hairs that dusted his chest. She bit her lip and continued on in silence, coating the salve over each raw gash. Through it all, she felt his gaze boring down on her. She didn't dare look up. He was too close. Too exposed. Bell's hand trembled. She cursed herself for a fool to be so unnerved by his nearness.

Finishing the last wound, and the last of the _athelas_, Bell took one step back. The oak leaf slipped from her fingers. She grabbed for it with her left hand, remembering too late how poor an idea that was. A quiet groan slipped past her lips as the leaf fluttered to the ground.

Thorin reached out and took her hand, sliding her sleeve up. Deep bruises purpled the base of her upper arm and her elbow. "You're hurt," he said.

Bell tried to pull her hand away, but Thorin did not release it. "It's nothing," she said. "Not compared with . . ." she gestured at the warg bites, words failing her.

"It isn't nothing," Thorin replied, brows furrowing. He felt carefully along the area, probing with his fingertips. Bell pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. "I don't feel anything broken," he said, slipping her sleeve back into place, "but it's badly bruised."

Thorin went silent, still clasping her fingers. His eyes slipped shut. Bell didn't move.

After a time, Thorin took in a slow, deep breath that stretched his ribs. He glanced down at the poulticed wounds, which were no longer bleeding. "I don't know what that is," he said, "but the pain is already dulled."

"Good."

Thorin gathered Bell close against his unwounded side. The breeze had dried him. His skin was cool against Bell's cheek, but she could feel the warmth of him simmering just below.

"Do you regret your choice?" he asked.

She didn't ask him what choice he meant. She didn't need to.

"No," she said, surprised to find that she meant it. "No matter what comes, I don't regret it. If I'd remained at Rivendell, I wouldn't have had a moment's rest, for worrying. I meant what I said. I want to be with you. I want to see you restored to your halls."

He didn't respond for a long time. Bell glanced up, to see whether he'd drifted back into unconsciousness, but his eyes were open, staring northward, deep and shadowed.

"What is it?" she asked.

"He'll hunt me," Thorin said. "The Defiler. Ever he has sought to purge Durin's line from the face of Middle-Earth."

"Then we'll fight him if he comes. We know now to be on our guard. He won't catch us unprepared again."

"I should go." Thorin's body tensed. "It's me he wants. I'm a danger to the company. I'm a danger to you."

Bell pulled away and set her right hand on his upper arm. "No, you shouldn't. Your place is with us."

"My duty is to protect my people." Patches of red flared on his cheeks. "What if the best way to do that is to be apart from them?"

Bell curled her fingers hard against his skin. The muscle below twitched. "Look at me."

The blue of his eyes was like the sky at twilight-deep, encompassing, and glimmering with the hint of starlight.

Her pulse raced under the power of his gaze. She swallowed in a dry throat. "You were born to be King Under the Lonely Mountain. Not the mountain itself. You aren't mean to be alone. We're with you, Thorin. Every one of us."

Thorin lifted his hands and cradled her face between them. His thumbs smoothed over her temples. "Every mountain has its own heart. Not all are lucky enough to find them." His hands shook, and his voice went gravelly. "You are the heart of this mountain, Bell Goodchild. My Arkenstone."

With infinite gentleness, Thorin drew her closer and lowered his lips towards hers. Bell forgot to breathe. Forgot everything but the touch of his hands on her cheeks, his fingers tangled in what remained of her braid, the warmth of his breath.

When his lips brushed against hers, she gasped, clinging to his arms. Her eyes fluttered closed. He tasted like summer. Like all the dreams and wishes of her youth wrapped into this one man. The sweet scent of _athelas_ wafted around them, and Bell knew she would never smell it again without it kindling memories of this moment.

Thorin drew away, hovering with his lips a breath away from her own, waiting for her response. Suddenly timid, Bell hesitated, then rose up on her toes, wrapped her good hand around his neck, beneath the damp weight of his hair, and kissed him. She knew she had all the skill of a girl who'd never kissed a soul in her life but, even so, he shuddered at the touch.

Then there was nothing but the rush of the river, and slow, gentle caresses that flared brighter than the rising sun.


	22. Chapter 22

Bell floated, lost in the warmth of Thorin's caresses. Time lost its meaning, but sooner than she was ready for it to end, he gently pulled away. Bell blinked up at him through unfocused eyes. He swept her disarrayed hair back over her ear.

"They'll be coming after us soon," he said, never taking his eyes from hers. "I'm surprised they've given us this much peace."

Bell swallowed and shook herself. "I . . . I'm sorry," she stammered. "I shouldn't have . . ."

"Shh," he said, laying a finger over her lips. "Don't ever apologize. Not for this." His mouth twitched up at the corner. "You're the fiercest looking hobbit that's ever walked Middle-Earth. Here," he picked up his cloth, still damp from the river, and wiped away the goblin blood that still clung to her face. "That's better."

Heat flared up her cheeks, all the way to the tips of her ears. "I must look a sight."

He nodded his head towards the river. "If you want to bathe, I'll keep the rest away."

Bell eyed the water doubtfully. "I can't swim."

"Then just wade in a little ways. Be careful, though," he said. "The current is swift."

She bit her lip. When she was young, she'd fallen off the bridge at Bywater. The memory was hazy, but she'd nearly drowned that day, and she still had dreams of the tugging current, and water forcing itself into her lungs.

Still, she needed to get clean. "Will you stay close? I'll keep my clothes on, I just . . ." she shivered. "I'd feel better if you were there."

Thorin nodded and drew her towards the riverbank. They waded out, hand in hand. The swift Anduin tugged at Bell's legs, cold as frost. Her toes numbed, and her fingers tightened around Thorin's, grateful for his quiet strength. When the water reached as high as her thighs, he stopped. "This is far enough."

Bell forced herself to let go of him long enough to undo what remained of her braid, then closed her eyes, blew out two sharp breaths, and dunked herself beneath the water's surface. The cold hit her lungs like a sledgehammer and she nearly inhaled. The river's grasp pulled at her. She reached for Thorin's leg, wrapping her right arm around it.

When she could hold her breath no longer, she surfaced, sucking in air, then ducked herself twice more. She couldn't feel her face or her fingers, but she visualized the grime of the goblin battle and the fight with the Orcs and wargs washing away under the river's power, and thought the discomfort was worth the result.

She popped up again gasping for air. Her lungs couldn't fully expand. "That's enough," Thorin said, taking her by the forearm before she could dunk herself again. "Come away."

By the time they reached the shore, Bell was chattering and shaking from tip to toe, but she felt as if she'd been scrubbed clean. The dirt and blood washed away, leaving her fresh again.

Thorin picked up his tunic and slipped it over his head, his motions smooth, as if his injuries no longer pained him. Before he let the dark gray fabric drop down fully, she glanced at the wounds. They no longer bled-the _athelas_ had fully staunched them-and the angry red lines of infection had faded until they were hardly visible.

He laced his leather vest loosely, then tied on his bracers. With each piece of clothing, it felt to Bell as if he were lacing on a new skin. The warrior Thorin she'd always known. No longer the much more mortal, vulnerable Thorin who had trembled under her touch.

He picked up his cloak, looked at it, then over at her. She was shivering, her clothes soaking wet. "I think you need this more than I do," he said, and draped it around her shoulders. The sun had been shining on the fur lining, and the warmth of it seeped in towards her skin.

"Thank you."

Thorin refitted Orcrist's belt at his waist and reached for his boots.

"Thorin!" came a voice from downstream. "Are you up there?"

"I'm coming down, Fili," he shouted back.

Bell nibbled at the corner of her lip. "Do you want me to go ahead? You can follow in a bit?" He'd always been careful to keep a discreet distance between them when in company with the others, save in the heat of danger.

"In my cloak?" he asked, tilting his head. "No, Bell. We'll go together."

His words warmed her more than the cloak or the sun. A smile lit her face.

Thorin stepped close and drew her towards him, capturing her lips once more, then pulling away before she could lose herself in the soft heat of his mouth. "Ready?" he asked.

She didn't see that she had much choice. "Erebor awaits."

#

Thorin stepped out into the clearing at the base of the Carrock with Bell at his side. The entire company of Dwarves, and Bilbo with them, wore half-dried hair and clean faces.

"You've been gone for some time," Dwalin observed, his glance moving back and forth between them.

Bell slipped behind Thorin, shielding herself from the company's apprising stares.

"And now we're back," Thorin said, in a tone that did not invite further comment. He turned towards the wizard, who was sitting on a stone, puffing smoke rings. "Thank you, Gandalf," he said. "Your salve is . . . most efficacious."

"Hmm. Yes," said Gandalf, tapping out his pipe and getting to his feet. "_Athelas_ is a potent healing herb, though few remember it, and it grows only in places frequented by the Rangers of the North. We're lucky that the Carrock is one of those places. I've gathered enough for another application. That should be sufficient to the purpose."

"Would it help with an injured arm?"

"What sort of injury?" Gandalf asked.

Thorin beckoned Bell forward. She showed her elbow to the wizard, who made a sour expression and shook his head. "No. _Athelas_ wouldn't be much help with that. A sling, however, might."

"It hurts when I bend it," Bell said.

"But does it hurt when it's bent, or simply in the process of getting there?"

Gingerly, Bell pulled her forearm towards herself. Her face went white while it was moving, but holding it across her chest, she let out a breath. "It's not so bad once it's here."

The Dwarves offered bits of cloth from their pockets or torn from their clothes until there was enough to fashion a sling. Gandalf looped it around Bell until her arm was supported.

When he was done, the wizard said, "I think we've lingered here quite long enough. You have no gear, no provisions, and, given that we have lost the road, no idea of where you are. In that, at least, I can help. We are near the home of a man who may well be able to be of service. He is a very great man, but he can be dangerous if not approached carefully. We must not be found trespassing in his domain. Better to go and find him before he finds us."

"Is there no one less dangerous we could ask for aid?" Ori asked, scratching at his chin.

"No, there is not. Besides did I not say he was very great man? That is true, but he is also more. He's a skin-changer."

A flurry of cluttered conversation met this remark, with everyone speaking over the top of the others' words. After a great deal of back and forth, it was established that this great man, Beorn by name, spent part of his time in the shape of a gigantic black bear who ate no meat, but defended his lands with vigilance. Those lands were wide indeed, for it would be a walk of many hours before they reached his home.

"And so, let us be off, if we have any hope of reaching Beorn's dwelling before supper time," Gandalf said. "He keeps this ford in good repair, and it should be easy enough to pass, for the Dwarves at least. You are taller and heavier than the hobbits. I think they should probably be carried. It wouldn't do for them to be swept away."

Thorin caught Bell giving the crossing a wary look. "Dwalin, take Bilbo," Thorin said. He touched his wounded side, wishing he could carry Bell himself, but it would be foolish to test the injuries in such a way. "Dori," he said, "see to Miss Goodchild."

#

Bell's empty stomach was churning by the time the sun had climbed past its zenith. They'd been walking for hours since reaching the bank on the far side of the Anduin, and the lack of food, combined with having hardly slept since leaving Rivendell, left her feeling like she was walking through a slow stream of molasses while having her head buried in a sea of woolen fluff. The rush of emotion that had buoyed her through the morning had long since faded, leaving her empty and worn.

The Dwarves didn't show so much of an effect, not even Thorin, wounded though he was. While Bell struggled to keep placing one foot in front of the other, they moved ahead at a dogged pace, ranging over rolling grasslands, between copses of maple, elm, and oak. Bilbo kept pace beside her, looking down from time to time at the little sword that hung at his waist as if he couldn't quite believe he'd used it, and sometimes rubbing at his vest pocket.

A loud humming sound came from up ahead, pressing its way into Bell's fuzzy mind. "Those are Beorn's bees," said Gandalf. "He keeps hives upon hives of them. They are very large, and their honey is the finest to be found in this part of the world."

Not long after, a black and yellow striped bee buzzed past Bell's nose. It was as long her thumb, thick-bodied, and it flew so close she could make out the hairs that coated it. She watched it fly past and wondered whether she'd actually fallen asleep and was dreaming.

She didn't think so. A dream stomach wouldn't feel so very empty, and a dream arm wouldn't ache like her own did, although the sling did help. A vast hedge rose ahead of them, so tall that Bell had to crane her neck to see the top. She didn't recognize the dark green, waxy leaves, nor the sharp thorns that bristled on the twigs.

"This will be far enough for all of us together," Gandalf said. "Beorn is not overfond of visitors, and I think it would be wise to present him with you in twos. I will go ahead with Mister Baggins. When it is safe, I will give a whistle. Come on then, each of you in pairs, every five minutes." He turned towards the only gap in the hedge, then glanced back at the company. "It would be good if you were on your best behavior." He beckoned towards Bilbo. "Come along."

Bell sank to the ground, watching them go. As long as they'd been moving, she'd been able to pretend she still had some strength, but now standing still felt like an impossibility. She was still wearing Thorin's cloak, although her own clothes had dried hours ago. Pulling her knees up close to herself, she laid her head on them and wrapped the cloak close around all of her.

Thorin dropped down on his heels in front of her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't sleep yet, if you can help it, Bell. We'll go first. This Beorn couldn't refuse hospitality to a woman or an injured man."

Bell heard a hint of doubt behind Thorin's words, but when Gandalf gave a sharp whistle, she let him help her to her feet and lead her through the door in the hedge.

A wooden house stood ahead of them, surrounded by open fields, dotted with snow-white horses and spotted cows in the distance. As they approach the dwelling, Bell changed her mind. This wasn't a house. It was a lodge, built on a scale she couldn't quite encompass. A heavy, carved wooden door stood ajar. The handle, formed in the shape of a bear, its head turned to look out at whoever was approaching, was placed well higher than her head.

Bell hesitated at the threshold, but taking courage from Thorin's presence and the knowledge that Gandalf and Bilbo were already within, she stepped through. The interior was lit by a fire that blazed in a hearth along the wall, its smoke curling up towards a hole in the center of the ceiling.

"This way," came Gandalf's voice from through an open door on the far side.

They crossed the wide room and came out onto a broad veranda. Bilbo and Gandalf sat, perched on a bench so tall even the wizard's feet dangled over the ground, but it wasn't them that drew Bell's attention.

Beorn, the man they hoped would be their host, stood leaning up against a carved post. His massive arms, corded with muscle, were crossed over his chest, which was as broad as three barrels of Prancing Pony ale put together. Wild black curls crowned his head and his beard bristled over his tunic in a wide sweep. He was so _tall_. A skin-changer? He didn't need to change his skin to look as fierce as a bear.

Thorin bent his head in the giant's direction. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

Bell startled, remembering Gandalf's instructions to be on their best behavior. She dropped a hesitant curtsey. "And Bell Goodchild, at your service."

Beorn waved a hand dismissively. "I am not in need of your service, thank you. Another halfling, I see. And a Dwarf. I know your name at least, Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror. I'm not well-inclined towards Dwarves, but your reputation for valor earns you the peace of this house, at least until this wizard has finished his tale. Have a seat, both of you. Where were you, Gandalf? Under the Misty Mountains? Continue."

Thorin found them a spot on a sawn log, low enough to scramble up on. It was difficult with the sling, but Bell finally settled herself next to Thorin, sitting close to his side. Gandalf continued with his tale, cleverly adding slowly to the count of his companions, while drawing out the adventure. Time and again a new set of Dwarves appeared and offered their service to Beorn, until he began pre-empting it, and on went the telling.

Bell tried to focus, but exhaustion hung over her so heavily her eyelids drooped. When her head settled against Thorin's arm, the contact startled her awake for a moment. She tried to pull herself back upright, but Thorin wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered, "It's all right. Go to sleep."

Bell knew she should resist, but everything was simply too much. Too much walking, too much fighting, too much hunger, and too much fear. Despite trying to be on her best behavior-and certainly falling asleep in front of your host could not be considered good behavior-her eyes slipped shut.


	23. Chapter 23

Thorin didn't like letting others take command of a situation, but in this, he knew Gandalf was the right man for the task, and he couldn't help but be impressed with the wizard's subtle skill at drawing Beorn deeper into the unfolding tale of their escape from Goblin Town and the battle at the burning trees. Beorn took the addition of each new pair of Dwarves in stride, irritated only at the interruption of the telling.

When Gandalf reached the end of the tale-Thorin's own charge against the Defiler-he listened intently. Having been unconscious, he'd missed the end of the battle, beyond Bilbo's foolish, but courageous, attack that had saved his life.

The wizard gestured towards Bell, dozing against Thorin's side. "Miss Goodchild leapt onto the eagle's leg beside Thorin and clung there all the way to the Carrock. I feared she would fall, but she was tenacious."

Thorin glanced down at the top of her head, a loose pile of pale curls. She'd done that? Bell, who was terrified of heights? His arm tightened around her.

"As you can see," Gandalf said, "all of this has pushed her beyond her endurance. Indeed, we're all hungry, tired, and without any provisions."

Beorn uncrossed his arms. "That's quite a tale you've told, Gandalf. Of course, it may not be true, but still, the excellent telling is worth my hospitality, at least for now. If all beggars could tell such a good story, they might find me more welcoming. So come inside, all sixteen of you. Be welcome in my home. My servants will provide you with food and a place to sleep."

The Dwarves scrambled down from their perches, or up off the ground for those who had arrived too late to find any other seat. Gandalf lifted Bilbo down from the high bench. The sun was setting, casting long shadows. Fragrance rose from night blooming flowers, just beginning to unfurl. It was beautiful, but strange. Thorin found himself longing for the scent of fresh-delved stone, or mountain pines.

He gave Bell a gentle shake. "Time to go," he said.

She rubbed her eyes. "Where're we going?"

"Supper."

"Oh. Oh, that's good."

They dropped down from the log and joined the end of the line trailing back inside of Beorn's house, beneath the door lintel that stood as high as a young tree.

Thorin never thought of himself as small. He was tall among his own kind, and his heritage gave him still more stature, yet within Beorn's domain he felt, well, _dwarfed_, for lack of a better word, and it made him deeply uncomfortable. Nor did he like being dependent on anyone and it ground on the edges of his ego to be in the position of supplicant.

His spine tensed, and he pulled his shoulders back. He wouldn't show weakness inside this house. Politeness, yes, but from one man of power to another. Beorn might be huge, but the company was many. Thorin comforted himself with the thought that, if the skin-changer changed his mind and decided they were a threat, they would put up a strong fight.

#

Bell watched Thorin's body language shift when he stepped inside Beorn's house. His I-am-a-solitary-mountain mask slipped into place, setting up a circle around him, invisible, but clearly perceptible, that encouraged others to keep their distance.

She wondered whether it was meant for her as well and decided not to press the issue. They were all tired, whether they showed it or not, and this was a strange place, with a strange host, who Gandalf had warned them could be mercurial. She'd keep to herself and draw as little attention as she could.

Beorn clapped his hands and in walked four white horses and several gray dogs, who he spoke with in a language they seemed to understand. The horses pulled out a long trestle table and two equally long benches. The dogs rose up on their hind legs, set a cloth on the table, and began to bring in trays of foodstuffs, balanced on their front paws.

Bell's jaw dropped open. Surely she was dreaming. Standing upright, the dogs were taller than she was, and they kept their balance on back paws that were wider than those one would find on an ordinary dog.

She slipped away from the rest, trailing after one of them when it walked towards an open door. Its long gray coat swung like corn silk, beautifully smooth, and it seemed to watch her out of the corner of one eye. She wondered if it was as intrigued by her as she was by it.

Suddenly Beorn himself was looming over her. "You like my dogs, do you?"

"I . . . I've never seen anything like them," Bell stuttered, feeling tiny beside the skin-changer's leg, and quite as fuddled as if she were still asleep.

"Nor will you ever again," Beorn replied. "But come, take a seat. Eat my good honey rolls." He raised one eyebrow. "I'd hate to have you collapse on my floor."

"Oh," she said, clasping her hands self-consciously in front of her. "I'm ever so sorry, Master Beorn. Falling asleep like that was rude, and my father didn't raise me to be rude."

Beorn gave her an appraising look, his face gone suddenly serious. "If anything, your exhaustion and your injury lend an air of reality to Gandalf's tale. If what is he said is true, you have more than enough excuse for fading." He ushered her towards the table.

She looked up at the bench despairingly. Perhaps with two good arms, she could climb it, but not with one.

"Up you go," said Beorn. He picked her up as if she were a doll and set her down in a space between Kili and Oin.

Thorin sat on the far side of the table, sandwiched between Bilbo and Gandalf. He gave Beorn a dark look, but Bell quickly shook her head, mouthed, "It's all right," and Thorin subsided.

Platters of honey rolls, pitchers of fresh milk, and more stretched across the table. The Dwarves helped themselves, filling their plates to overflowing. After so long without eating, the smells alone were enough to make Bell's stomach growl.

She took a honey roll and drizzled raw honey over it. They flavor was unlike anything she'd tasted. Delicate, full of hints of cherry blossoms. The sweetness slid easily down her throat. If she had honey like this back in the Shire, her baking would win the blue ribbon when she went with her father to the Hobbiton Fair.

The thought of home hit her so hard, and so unexpectedly, that it stole her breath. She paused, the roll halfway to her mouth. Her poor father. She hadn't even said goodbye. He must have gone past worry now, into dread, maybe even despair. What had she just said to Beorn? Her father hadn't raised her to be rude? What could be more selfish than her actions?

Her hand sank to the table. She bent her head, closed her eyes, and focused on breathing.

"Bell? Are you all right?" asked Kili.

She nodded her head without looking up. It wasn't true. She wasn't all right, but there was nothing poor Kili could do about it. This was her own doing. She would suffer the consequences. Just not now. Not at the dinner table.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, and finally the overwhelming weight that had been crushing her lungs lightened, enough that she could lift her head without being hit with dizziness. Enough that she could finish the last of her roll and pick up another, because she knew she needed it. Enough that she could plaster a smile on her face and pretend to listen to Beorn conversing with Gandalf and Thorin as the night crept on, and the Dwarves singing songs of the past.

Finally, Beorn rose from the head of the table. "You'll find beds laid out for you along the far wall," he said. "I'm going out for a time. You are welcome in this house. My companions will see to your needs."

Grateful to finally be free to leave the table, Bell let Kili help her down, mumbled a thank you, and slipped away while the rest remained seated, singing and enjoying the bounty of Beorn's kitchen. She made her way through the shadows towards the great doors that led out onto the veranda. She needed to be away from the others, someplace where she could see the moon and feel the breeze and try to send her thoughts back over the Misty Mountains.

As if a thought would be enough of an apology to her father. As if she could convince herself that since the same moon shone here in this strange place as did over the hill at Hobbiton she could find some way to touch him.

The great doors were closed. Bell tried to push one open, but it wouldn't budge. She leaned her head up against it, felt the sharp grain of the wood imprint itself into her skin. Her shoulders slumped and a lump clogged her throat. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

"Bell?" came a voice out of the darkness.

She startled and squinted. "Bilbo?"

"What are you doing? You can't go outside. Didn't you hear Beorn? Stay inside until sunrise, on peril of your life?"

She shook her head. "No, I didn't." She'd been too lost in her own thoughts to hear much of anything.

"Well, don't go trying to get out. I've heard some strange sounds from out there, and I don't like them one bit."

Bell sank down to the floor, leaning up against the door. "What do you think they're doing, back in the Shire?" she asked.

Bilbo slipped his thumbs into his pockets. "I suppose Hamfast Gamgee is carefully pruning the roses, making sure everything will be just so for when I return. The Sackville-Bagginses are probably salivating at the prospect of my disappearance. Probably already starting an inventory of the silver."

Bell looked down at her hands, clasped tight atop her knees. "What about my father?" Her voice was so quiet she hardly heard herself.

There was a long pause, then Bilbo cleared his throat. "He's probably worried sick. I'd be worried sick, and you're not my blood."

Bell didn't reply. She couldn't. Not without losing the tight control she held over her tears.

After a moment, Bilbo gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder, then moved silently back towards the Dwarves.

Bell dropped her face into her hands. If she concentrated hard enough, she could call to mind the smell of her father's pipeweed, a special mix of Old Toby and a specialty grower from the South Farthing. Could imagine him sitting in his old rocker, sharing tales of the big fish that got away with Farmer Bolger. The images shifted, and now she saw him pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, fretting over his wayward child, who'd left him behind with not even a farewell.

Heavy footsteps approached. Bell raised her head just enough to see Thorin squat down beside her and touch the side of her head. "Bell? What's wrong? Bilbo's worried about you. Kili, too."

Still afraid to speak, she leaned towards him, instinctively seeking the comfort of his presence. Thorin settled himself beside her and pulled her in towards him, running one hand through her hair. He said nothing, just let her nestle close. It was one of the best things about Thorin. He didn't press.

Slowly her shoulders released their death grip on her control, but simply being with him dulled the sharp edges of her hollow longing. A trickle of tears slid down the side of her cheek, melting into his tunic. She wiped it away with the back of her fist.

"You'll be disappointed in me," she whispered.

"How could you disappoint me?"

"I'm homesick," she said, "like Bilbo. I know you were disappointed in him."

He was quiet for a while, stroking her upper arm with his thumb. "I was too hard on him," he said at last. "It was a mistake and I regret it. I think all of us are homesick to one degree or another. Isn't that what's driven this quest? To take back my home. It's been years, Bell. So many years it feels like Erebor existed in another life, but even so I can still taste the memory as clearly as if I stood in its halls only yesterday."

Bell tilted her face towards him. Stark shadows hid his eyes, save for glints from the hearth.

"The worst part," she said, fighting against a new flow of tears, "is that I left without a word to my father. It seemed like such a grand idea. Find Bilbo. Give him his handkerchief. See a bit of the world. I had no idea what I was doing. How selfish I was. What if I don't make it home? What kind of daughter am I?"

Thorin pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We'll just have to make sure you make it back."

"How? There's no way to do that."

"When we left Rivendell, I told you I couldn't guarantee your safety. Much as I might wish it different, that still holds true. It doesn't mean I won't do everything in my power to see you safe."

A low, rumbling growl shuddered through the door. Bell flinched away from it. Thorin pulled her to her feet and drew her behind him, his other hand on the hilt of his sword. The door creaked and a dark shadow lumbered past, blocking out the moonlight from the crack at the door's base.

"Is that . . ." Bell whispered.

"Our host? I don't know, but the door is strong, and I think it's time for sleep."

She let him lead her to the rows of straw-stuffed mattresses and blankets that sat on a raised platform along the wall. A few souls were already in their beds, Bilbo among them, though many still sat at the table, enjoying the short time of peace and safety to spend in good company.

Bell chose a mattress at the far end of the back row, pulled back the covers, and sat down. Thorin knelt beside the next mattress. "Would you mind if I . . ." he mimed scooting the mattress against hers.

A smile flickered across her lips. Kissing her half naked in the morning, then asking permission to sleep close at night. A strange mixture of a gentleman and a rake, her Thorin.

_Her_ Thorin. Even thinking the words filled her with a strange warmth that swelled out from her heart all the way through her fingers and toes.

"Please."

#

**Author's Note: I've been reading back through the coming sections of the book, to re-familiarize myself with what is to come. There are decisions I have to make about how things will proceed and where I want to deviate from what is laid out in the road map.**

**Looking forward to getting back on the road to Mirkwood. The whole Beorn sequence is actually really hard for me to wrap my head around. Always has been.**


	24. Chapter 24

Bell slept more soundly than she had since leaving Hobbiton. The straw mattress, which might once have seemed sharp and uncomfortable, felt like a luxury, and Thorin's warm presence beside her combined to leave her fully rested and much more composed than the day before.

When she finally dragged herself out from beneath the covers, she discovered both Gandalf and Beorn gone. The skin-changer's animal companions had set out food for the company and, though Bell was disconcerted by the conspicuous absences, the Dwarves and Bilbo resolved themselves to take advantage of the opportunity.

Thorin joined Dwalin, Balin, Fili, and Kili to plot for the upcoming leg of the journey through Mirkwood, so Bell decided to explore a bit more of Beorn's house. She wanted to see where the animals stored the food, and whether they cooked it, or if Beorn simply kept a full larder at all times, in case of unexpected guests. It seemed unlikely, given his expressed dislike for visitors.

She followed one of the gray dogs out a side door and trailed after it down a corridor and into Beorn's kitchen. Everything was on a massive scale. A stove in the corner was nearly twice Bell's height, and it heated the room to a swelter with its fire.

The dog swung open a cabinet door with its forepaw. Its deep brown eyes watched Bell so intently it felt very much as if another person looked out at her from behind its canine skull.

"May I look inside?" Bell asked.

It felt very strange to be speaking to a dog, but it bobbed its head in such a way that she felt sure it was nodding. Bell stepped up to the door. The bottom shelf was just a bit shorter than she was, so she bent her head to duck inside. Jars of honey lined the floor. Dark honey, pale honey, honey tinted purple with huckleberries, judging from the picture painted onto the glass. So many kinds of honey, Bell wouldn't have believed there could be so many variations in the world.

She stepped back out of the cupboard. "Are they all from Beorn's bees?"

The dog bobbed again.

"May I see the hives?"

The gray dog dropped down onto all fours and trotted towards a back door. It looked back over its shoulder and blinked its liquid brown eyes.

Bell hurried to follow it. Out it went, and led her down a long, grassy slope towards a stretch of ground that appeared from a distance to be littered with large brown barrels, but when they drew closer, the incessant buzzing that grew steadily louder revealed them to be hives. The bees that flew past were so large Bell felt a bit leery of going closer. A sting from one such as these might make her swell up like an overripe berry.

"Are you sure it's safe?" she asked.

The dog gave her hand a reassuring lick.

She curled her fingers in its fur and let it lead her ahead. Through the hives they went, and on to the pastures where the cows grazed on fresh grass and white horses watched her pass, quiet and observant.

After a long time, the dog led her back towards Beorn's home. They'd covered quite a lot of ground, and the sun had crept on into afternoon. When they went back in through the kitchen door, the dog rose back up onto its hind feet and offered one forepaw to Bell. She shook the paw gravely. "Thank you for your hospitality. You've been ever so kind."

A white horse clopped up behind her and nudged her shoulder, herding her out of the kitchen and back down the corridor to the grand room where she'd left the company.

She slipped inside quietly, so as not to disturb whatever the Dwarves might be up to, but Thorin spotted her the moment she entered. "There you are," he said, stepping away from a group of Dwarves surrounding a crude map they had drawn on the dirt floor.

Dwalin, who had been in the middle of talking, clamped his mouth shut, and tightened his hand around the stick he'd been using to make marks on the map.

Thorin made his way across the hall to greet her. His face was drawn and a bit gray around the edges. "You've been gone so long I was about ready to send out a search party."

"I was having a tour of the grounds," Bell said. "I didn't realize I'd be going, or I'd have told you. I'm sorry to have made you worry."

He squeezed her shoulder. "You're back now, at least," he said. "Which is more than can be said for Gandalf."

"Gandalf is back, indeed, Thorin Oakenshield," said the wizard, coming in from the front door, "although I don't think we'll see Beorn again until tomorrow. I followed his trail as far as the Carrock, but couldn't reach the far side where I saw he'd come out of the river. I believe he is checking the truth of our tale for himself."

With the wizard returned, most of the Dwarves gathered around the map. Apparently, Beorn had given them good information during dinner the night before, when Bell had been too distracted to care, about dangers that had cropped up in the Misty Mountains, and there was a good deal of preparation and planning to be done.

Bell excused herself. She knew nothing of travel strategies or logistics, and felt she'd be more likely to be in the way than not. Instead, she went back out onto the veranda and sat on the ground, leaning up against the leg of a carved bench, and watched the slow play of the afternoon sun on the waving grass.

The day was warm, the breeze fragrant, and she rested her head back against the wood. She would close her eyes for just a little while, and listen to the buzz of the distant bees and the chirping of a thrush in a nearby elm.

#

Bell hadn't meant to sleep, but sleep she did, and the sun had nearly set by the time someone cleared their throat, startling her awake.

She blinked up at the broad form that blocked what remained of the sun. "Dwalin?"

The burly Dwarf stood in front of her with his arms crossed. "I came to fetch you in for supper."

Bell stumbled to her feet, a bit groggy from her sleep. She smoothed the Elven tunic down over her trousers. "I'm sorry to have put you out of your way."

"I'm not out of my way. I wanted a word with you."

"Oh? What can I do for you?"

Dwalin's fingers tightened against his biceps and he stared down at her with a piercing glare. He looked angry, although she couldn't think what she might have done to upset him. A flutter of nerves raced through her.

After a long moment of silence, Dwalin asked, "Do you love him?"

Bell blinked. "I . . . What?"

"Thorin." Dwalin stepped closer, looming over Bell. "Do you love him?"

Bell didn't know how to respond. Did she love Thorin? She'd never experienced love before, so she didn't suppose she could say so with certainty, but why else did his presence overarch every other thought? Why else did she seek him out time and again? Why else had she leapt to his defense, with not a thought to her own safety? Why else did she feel more alive in his presence than at any other time in her life?

"I . . . I don't know how to answer you," she said.

Dwalin came closer still, forcing her to look up at him. He didn't touch her, but came so close as to make little difference. She'd never thought to be frightened of one of the company, but the intensity behind Dwalin's eyes made her mouth go dry. "I sincerely hope you do love him, Bell Goodchild," Dwalin growled, pointing his finger close to her face, "because if you break his heart, you'll answer to me."

Bell tried to retreat, but came up short against the bench. Her good arm clutched at the wood.

"That's enough, Dwalin," came Thorin's voice from the doorway, thick and impassive as stone.

Dwalin took a step back and dropped his arm, although his look remained dark.

"Go back inside."

Bell waited in the silence, her pulse thudding in her ears.

Dwalin hesitated, then straightened and gave Thorin a sharp nod. He stalked towards the door.

#

Thorin's body blocked most of the partially open door. He didn't step back to make room, forcing Dwalin to twist himself to get through without brushing against him. It was a subtle thing, this claiming of space, but effective. Like the rock that dams the river, it held power, and Dwalin was in need of a reminder of where that power lay.

Thorin watched the bald top of Dwalin's pate cross the open room. When he'd rejoined the others, Thorin turned back to Bell. She stood with one hand on the bench leg, her face pale. Thorin's lips pressed together, his blood simmering.

"I'm sorry he troubled you," Thorin said. "He has no right to ask such questions."

Bell shook her head as if to clear it. "He asks because he cares about you."

"That doesn't give him the right to speak to you in such a manner."

Bell pulled away from the bench and came to stand in front of him. The last beams of the sunset glinted off her hair, turning it a rich shade of honey. She touched the back of Thorin's hand so gently he could hardly feel her fingers. "Let it go."

"I shouldn't."

"Yes, you should. I'm sure Dwalin isn't the only one to think along those lines. He's just the only one bold enough to come out and say it. If I cause difficulty, if you start defending me from your own men, it will only make it worse. Let them judge me based on my actions. They'll see soon enough that I would never hurt you."

Thorin turned over his hand and grasped her fingers. "He threatened you."

"He told me the truth of his heart. Besides," she gave him a tremulous smile, "I'll only have to answer to him if I break yours."

"I can guard that well enough. I don't need Dwalin's help." He heard the irritation in his voice and wished he could pull it back, but he didn't have it in him. His life was his own, as were his choices.

"Thorin, please. Forget it."

He didn't want to. He wanted to drag Dwalin up in front of the others and explain in no uncertain terms that no one would _ever_ speak to Bell that way again. But, she was right. No matter how much his instinct drove him to guard her, it wouldn't help.

"Very well," he said, forcing the hot surge of anger back down the molten vents from which it rose. "I'll let it pass."

"Thank you." She squeezed her fingers and glanced back over her shoulder at the rapidly darkening sky. "We should go in. The doors will close for the night soon and I, for one, don't want to find myself on the wrong side."

#

Supper passed without incident. Bell and Thorin found seats as far from Dwalin as they could, although she found her eyes traveling often to the tattooed Dwarf. He kept his head down, speared his food harder than was necessary, and didn't reply when any of the others spoke to him. He couldn't have radiated a more powerful air of _leave me alone_ if he'd been Thorin, which was saying a good deal.

The whole incident left Bell thoroughly uncomfortable. She understood Dwalin's concern, even agreed with him, but he'd frightened her quite badly. The Dwarf was fierce and didn't always have control over his emotions.

She excused herself early and made her way to her mattress. Throughout the day, her injured arm had ached, a low, constant pain that hovered at the edge of her awareness, always there, but never quite leaping to the forefront. She lifted her arm and pulled the sling over her head. Pushing up her sleeve, she studied her elbow. The swelling had gone down, but the bruises were still an angry purple, now mottled to brown and a bit of yellow around the edges. She tried unbending the arm, but the sharp pain the movement brought changed her mind.

"You shouldn't be taking that off," said Thorin, picking up the sling and looping it back into place. "You're lucky the arm's not broken. We Dwarves have denser bones and can take more of a beating."

Bell hadn't heard him coming, but was glad of his company. "What of you?" she asked, gesturing at his side.

"Better than I had any right to hope. Gandalf says we can change the dressings in the morning and, if things progress as he expects, the skin should be fully knit in another two days' time. I just have to take things gently a little while longer."

"Then I'm glad Beorn has been gone," Bell said, "to give you a chance to heal."

Thorin smoothed back her hair, a half-smile curling his lips. "Get some sleep," he said. "Gandalf expects our host may be back in the morning. We should be ready to leave."

"What about you?"

He shook his head. "I can't rest. Not yet. There's more planning to be done and I promised to help Kili mend some chipped spots on one of his blades."

Bell's eyes narrowed. "Take things gently, you said."

"I'm a Dwarf." He shrugged. "This _is_ gently."

#

**Author's Note: I apologize for the slowdown in chapter uploading. This is requiring more planning than I anticipated and I had a sick kidlet in the house. Hoping to get back on track to the posting-a-chapter-every-day pace I was on previously.**


	25. Chapter 25

"Ho! And here you are, all still here!" The booming roar of Beorn's voice woke Bell from a dead sleep. Her hand reached instinctively for Thorin, but he wasn't beside her. She bolted up from the bed.

Early morning sunlight streamed in through the open doors. Beorn's frame in the threshold was limned with it, almost as if he glowed. Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Bofur stood near the fire, while Bilbo and Gandalf were seated at the high table, making a breakfast of rolls and apples. The rest, like herself, had still been sleeping, although all save Oin now rousted themselves from their rest.

Beorn strode inside, picked up Bilbo and held him out at arm's length, grinning broadly. Mister Baggins' eyes went wide and he nearly dropped the roll he was holding. "Little bunny growing fat again on milk and honey?" asked Beorn.

Bilbo gave a nervous giggle and a self-deprecating shrug. Beorn set him back down, ruffling the hobbit's hair.

"I liked your tale very well," Beorn said, sitting down opposite Gandalf, "but I like it even better now that I know it is true. You've given the goblins a sting they'll not soon forget. It's a pity about the trees that burned, but I found several Orc corpses, and there's been a rain of wargs at the eastern base of the Misty Mountains."

"Did you find any tracks?" asked Thorin, making his way to the table. His long hair draped over his shoulders in heavy black waves that swayed with his walk. "Were there survivors?"

Bell wondered whether he'd slept at all.

Beorn nodded his shaggy head. "I did. There were warg tracks leading to the north. If the Orc you faced was indeed Azog the Defiler, I don't believe he will give up on you so easily. He will follow you, although on his current path, he must pass to the north of Mirkwood. If you go through, as I see from your map you've been planning, then you should complete the crossing before he can reach the far side."

"Yes, that's very true, Beorn," Gandalf said, "but there are still difficulties that face us in taking that route. We still have no supplies, and you gave us reason to believe that Mirkwood is more perilous of late than it had been in older times."

"There, I can give you some help," Beorn said, placing his hands palms down on the table. "I'll give you provisions, packs, bows and arrows, and, at least while you're within the boundaries of my land, you may have the use of my ponies. You'll need water-skins as well. The waters within Mirkwood are fouled, and some are bespelled. Drink none of it. Touch none of it, especially the black river that runs through the forest's heart. It will put you into such a sleep as you may never wake from."

Thorin bowed his head. "You are generous, Beorn. Thank you."

Bell approached the table. "Is there any way I can be of help?"

Beorn turned. His smile spread across his face like the dawning of midsummer. "And here's the other halfling. I spoke with my companions when I returned. Mistbark tells me you've taken an interest in my bees and the workings of my grounds."

"I've never seen anything like your bees, nor tasted any finer honey in all the land."

"Come with me to my kitchen. My companions will lead these men to the storehouse and they can see to the packing, while you and I take on a spot of baking. You have a long way to travel, and will find no palatable food with the forest's eaves. I know a recipe for a bread that is filling, light, and travels well. If we get started now, we can have it ready for you to depart in two hours' time."

#

It felt very strange to be back atop a pony. Bell clung to the reins with her good hand and tried very hard not to think about poor Agnes and Myrtle and all the rest. What had happened to them when the Orcs attacked before the company reached Rivendell? Had they managed to flee to safety? Had they been killed?

Bell tried to redirect her thoughts. The company was on its way again. With the use of the ponies they would reach the entrance to the path through Mirkwood the next day. They rode north, the rolling grasslands of Beorn's domain splayed out to their left, and the thick, dark rise of Mirkwood drawing nearer on the east with the passing of the hours.

Thorin rode near the head of the column beside Gandalf. His face, when he turned to look behind, showed no sign of discomfort, but Bell could see the effect of his injury in the way he absorbed the pony's swaying stride.

Before they had left Beorn's home, Bell found time to pull him outside, away from the others, to a pond near the outer wall of the house. She'd soaked the old _athelas_ salve away, dabbing gently around the reddened edges of the wounds. New skin was growing, but it was pink and delicate, and the flesh beneath still showed through in places.

Bell applied the fresh batch of salve as carefully as she could. There would be no more to be found within Mirkwood. This bit would have to be enough and she didn't dare waste it.

Thorin endured her ministrations with no protest. When she was done, he pressed her hand flat against the bare skin of his chest and rested his head atop hers, his other arm circling around her waist. The rise and fall of his breath beneath her hand was slow, soothing. She tried to let it soak through her and calm her nerves. What she'd overheard about the road ahead left her on edge and wary.

His hand traced up her back and massaged the base of her neck. "Try not to worry," he said.

"I can't help it," Bell replied, "but I'll try not to show it, at any rate." She straightened, pulling away from him and lifting her chin. "I am Bell Goodchild, Daughter of Godwin. Unexpected adventurer and rider of eagles. Mirkwood should fear me."

Her attempt at humor brought an amused smile to Thorin's face, but it faded as quickly as it appeared, his eyes taking on a dark cast. "Mirkwood is the realm of Thranduil, the Elf King who stood by the day Smaug sacked Erebor. If fate favors me, we will pass by his halls undetected." His thumb slid along the side of her neck. "Fate rarely chooses to favor me, Bell, save when it set you in my path."

She stepped closer and tilted her head towards him. His heartbeat beneath her hand accelerated. "I think it would be better to say that it set you in mine," she whispered. "It was I who found you lost in the wilds of the Shire."

"You mock me." His breath warmed the skin of her cheek, teased the tip of her ear.

"Never. My fate was sealed the moment I brought you to Bilbo's door."

Thorin's lips touched her temple, sending shivers down her neck, all the way to her fingertips.

"Thorin? Bell? Are you out here?" Kili came around the corner of the house and froze, mouth open in an exaggerated 'o.'

Bell ducked her head and slipped out of Thorin's arms. He reached for his tunic.

"What do you want, Kili?" Thorin asked, his voice dripping with irritation.

Kili flushed as red as one of Beorn's apples. "I didn't mean to . . . that is, I didn't know . . . I mean . . . "

"Out with it!"

Kili snapped to attention. "Gandalf says we're ready to move out."

"Thank you. Now," Thorin made a shooing motion, "a little privacy if you please?"

"Right," Kili said, his eyes on the ground, on the wall, anywhere but Thorin and Bell. "I'll just tell the others you'll be along."

The pony beneath Bell stumbled, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She grabbed hold of the saddle to keep from losing her seat. Kili hadn't spoken to her since then, although she'd felt his eyes on her often, and Dwalin remained sullenly silent. With two Dwarves now avoiding her, although, she hoped, for different reasons, she was beginning to feel more than a little out of place.

Bilbo, who had been riding just ahead of her, reined his pony back to fall in at her side. "Feeling better than you were, Bell?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Bilbo. It was good to talk about home."

"Do you think it's coming up on the season for the white roses yet?" Bilbo asked. "Hamfast always said the yellow ones came out first, but he preferred the white. A sweeter fragrance."

Bell lips curved in a forlorn smile. "Hamfast is a good gardener and a good man. Did I ever tell you this cloak is his?" She ran a hand down the worn fabric, the last part of home she had left to her. "He gave it to me when I chased off after you. He'll take good care of Bag End while you're away."

Bilbo's eyes went distant. "Yes," he agreed. "I'm quite sure he will."

#

The company made good time. They reached the entry to the northern path just before sundown on the second night. The trees loomed tall and black. Bell almost felt as if they were reaching out towards the campsite, as if to entrap them and consume them whole.

Oin and Gloin got a fire going. They had no meat, for Gandalf had warned them against the killing of any creature on Beorn's land, but they did heat water for tea, which the skin-changer had provided. It was very strong, and could use sweetening.

Bell had a small jar of honey in her pack, but she did not offer it round. While she and Beorn had been cooking the waybread, she mentioned how much her father would have loved Beorn's honey.

"Take this back with you, Bell Goodchild," the skin-changer had said, handing her the jar. "Bring this memento of me home to your father. Share it with him in good health and good company."

The gesture had made her eyes smart with tears, but she blinked them away and thanked her host profusely. "I won't touch it, Master Beorn. Not until I'm home safe again."

Gandalf settled himself by the fire and cleared his throat. "Well, I've gotten you all here to the next stage of your quest. Tomorrow, I will see you off, and return the ponies to Beorn."

Bell lowered her mug. Steam curled around her face. "See us off? Aren't you coming with us?"

"I am not. I never meant to come this far with you at all, but circumstances intervened. Now, however, you are well in hand, and I have pressing business to the south."

Suddenly the looming presence of Mirkwood felt infinitely larger. No Gandalf to guide them. No wizard who could throw fire in dire circumstances. Bell hardly heard the chorus of protests, which Gandalf soundly ignored.

She set down her cup, no longer able to stomach the thought of more tea. "If no one needs any more," she said, "I'll see about cleaning up."

It was difficult, with only one good arm, but Bell managed to pull down the pot and set it aside to cool for the morning. Bombur tried to help, but she shook her head. She needed to be able to do this. She wouldn't be a burden on the company. Not any longer.

A pounding headache began in the base of her skull and worked its way towards her forehead. She gathered up a set of blankets and unrolled them a little distance from the others. A strange chittering sound emanated from the forest. Bell tried to ignore it, but it set her teeth on edge. She wanted to throw the blankets over her head and pretend there was no more to the world than her own little cave, but that would be cowardly. Instead, she forced herself to lie quietly and listen to the voices of the company drifting on the wind, mingled with the mutterings of the forest.

A rumbling growl trembled through the air. Bell's eyes flew open and she rolled onto her elbow. A massive dark shadow slipped among the trees, its form that of a great black bear. The chittering silenced.

Bell let her head fall back onto the blankets. Beorn was, at least for the moment, with them. The conversation from the fireside did not dim, or pause. She didn't think anyone else had observed him.

Bell closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her throbbing head and the worry over what was to come refused to let her be. No position she tried was comfortable. There was either something hard digging into her ribs, or her hurt elbow was being pressed on, or the sling was pulling at her neck. A midge buzzed around her ear with a high, whining drone. She slapped at it time and again, but it kept coming back, so she pulled the blanket over her face and held it to the ground.

After what felt like a very long time, the Dwarves' conversations quieted, and she heard the sounds of preparations for sleep. A warm hand touched her shoulder, so softly she wouldn't have felt it if she were sleeping. "Bell," Thorin whispered, "are you still awake?"

She pulled down her blanket. "I'm awake."

He laid out his blanket beside her and slipped in, gathering her close. The pressure of his embrace felt different. Stronger. As if he needed reassurance. She slid her hand through his hair and rubbed her fingers over the back of his neck. He groaned when she found a knot of corded muscles and began to massage away the tension.

Slowly, the pressure of his arms around her eased. Bell kept up her one-handed massage, her head resting on his shoulder. She wished he would tell her what was bothering him, but knew he wouldn't. Not surrounded, as they were, by the rest of the company.

Instead, she focused on easing away his worry as best she could. When his breath came slow and even, and the weight of his arm around her got heavier, she knew finally slept. To her surprise, she found her own headache had eased and, surrounded by Thorin's warmth and pillowed by his body, she slipped into the world of dreams.

#

**Author's Note: Tomorrow, into the forest! I really appreciate those of you who are still with me now that we've gone past the scope of the movie and into the book. Your comments continue to make me smile and give me energy to plow ahead.**


	26. Chapter 26

The sky was only just beginning to lighten towards gray when Bell woke. A chorus of snores rose up all around her. Thorin had rolled over in the night, and she found she'd draped herself further over his chest. She thought about trying to go back to sleep, but already thoughts of what lay ahead seeped into her mind, and she didn't think she wanted to risk the dreams her subconscious might decide to plague her with. Besides, her natural propensity to be a slugabed was something to strive against. There was work to be done.

She shifted herself slowly, not wanting to wake Thorin, but as soon as she moved, he opened his eyes and touched her hand. His eyes were dark, his forehead lined with weariness. Bell cupped his cheek, felt the thick hair of his beard beneath her palm. "Go back to sleep," she whispered. "There's another hour until dawn, I think."

Thorin squeezed her shoulder and let his eyes slip back shut. Good. He'd gotten too little rest, and Bell worried that he'd run himself too hard.

She slipped out of the blankets and into the chilly pre-dawn air. Shivering, she made her way to the fire pit. The Dwarves had banked the fire down before coming to bed. Bell found a stick and poked at the coals. When she found the red heat at their base, she sprinkled dried twigs from a pile, then added a few larger branches once the tinder was flaming.

Although she hadn't made fires in the wilderness before, she'd certainly started them in the iron stoves back at home, and this was one task she was confident in. She blew at the flames until they began to lick up the bark and settle into the heartwood, then sat back on her heels and held out her hand to warm it.

Her left hand was still freezing. It had been two days since she last tested her arm. Surely it must be improving by now. She pulled off the sling, took a breath in anticipation of pain, and straightened her elbow.

It did hurt, but the pain had lessened. Instead of the sharp pain that felt as if someone were stabbing her with a paring knife, it was a more diffuse sort of pain. An ache that circled from the back of her elbow all the way around to the front, halfway up her arm.

Probably best to keep the sling on a while longer, but she thought that in an emergency, she'd be able to use the arm if she needed to. It was a reassuring thought. She didn't like being hobbled, and the inability to use all of her, admittedly limited, means in her own defense had added to her sense of apprehension.

The sound of heavy footfalls approached from the far side of the fire, away from the forest. Bell looked up. She'd thought everyone was still asleep.

A shadow resolved itself into the burly form of Dwalin. Bell swallowed and busied herself with the fire, poking at the branches, although they didn't need it. Would he ignore her? Go back to bed? Or would he speak to her again? What would she say?

She didn't watch him approach, but listened intently, and she knew when he stopped on the far side of the fire. He rolled a stone close and settled himself on it, holding out his hands to warm.

Bell watched him through her lashes, face down. He didn't glance over at her, didn't speak. He was going to pretend she wasn't there.

A kernel of irritation settled in her chest. She hadn't done anything she was ashamed of, and it wouldn't do to have company members not speaking once they entered Mirkwood. There were bigger things there to worry about, and petty squabbles would do nothing but distract them from their vigilance.

Very well. If Dwalin wouldn't speak, then it was up to her.

"Good morning, Dwalin," she said, her voice low, but loud enough to be heard on the other side of the fire. "Would you like me to heat the tea?"

He pulled his hands back and stared at her across the licking flames. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Bell returned his gaze, unflinching, despite the pounding of her heart. She wasn't brave by nature, but being in company with the Dwarves, and with Thorin in particular, she hoped she'd learned something about how to project bravery, even if she wasn't feeling it.

Dwalin pressed his lips tight, then glanced away and nodded his head in silence.

Bell slipped the sling back into place, found the pot from the night before, and set it on a flat-topped rock in the center of the fire pit, careful to avoid the flames.

They waited, not speaking, until the tea began to boil. Bell reached for a ladle. She held a mug in her left hand. It wasn't strong yet and trembled a bit, but she thought she could hold the mug steady enough while she scooped the hot water into it.

"Oh, give me that," Dwalin said in a brusque tone, coming around the pit to take the mug and ladle. "You'll scald yourself."

Dwalin served himself while Bell watched, then stalked back to his rock, sitting down hard, resting his forearms on his knees. He blew on the steaming liquid and took a careful sip.

"Is it all right?" Bell asked.

"For tea in the wilderness, it'll do. I'd rather a mug of ale." Dwalin glanced down at his hands, one foot tapping the ground in an agitated beat. After a moment, he looked back over at her. The sky was brightening and his bald head shone with perspiration, despite the cold of the morning. "I'm not going to apologize for what I said."

Bell shook her head. "I'm not asking you to. I honor your loyalty to him. It does you credit."

"I've been waiting for his rebuke," Dwalin muttered.

"It won't be forthcoming."

"Why?"

Bell added another branch to the flames. "I asked him not to."

"Why?"

"Because this company will only function if all the players are united. Nothing you said was worth arguing over. All I want is peace among us."

Dwalin contemplated the steam rising from his mug. "You're wiser than you look," he said.

"I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or not," Bell replied.

Dwalin snorted. "Neither am I." He tilted his head and caught her eyes, a contemplative look etched on his face. "Truce?"

Bell nodded. "Truce."

#

The rest were not long in rising. Soon the campsite was a flurry of activity. They ate a cold breakfast, and then began the task of dividing the gear the ponies had carried among fifteen packs. Those that Bell and Bilbo were assigned were of a size with those for the Dwarves. Beorn hadn't kept multiple sizes in his storehouse, although why he'd had a stash of small-sized packs at all was something Bell chose not to contemplate.

While more and more items were added to her bag, Bell eyed it warily. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Come, Miss Goodchild," Gandalf said. "Bring those water-skins. We'll fill them at the stream."

Bell trailed after the wizard. The stream was small, but the water was clean. Her fingers chilled when she held the skins below the surface to fill them.

"I overheard your conversation with Dwalin this morning," Gandalf said.

Bell pulled out the water-skin and wedged its stopper into place. "Oh?"

"That was well done. Very well. You've got a good deal of sense about you. I think you may find you need it before this quest is done." He looked at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "Keep up your courage, Bell Goodchild, and keep close watch over your companions. I fear that they'll need a bit of good sense delivered along the way, and I will not be there to give it."

Bell laughed, a sad, self-deprecating sound. "I don't have your sense, Master Gandalf. I just try to do what's right."

"Yes, well, sometimes that is harder to do than it may seem." Gandalf finished filling the last of the water-skins and added it the pile, giving it a critical stare. "That should be enough to see you all safely through the forest, though you'll need to ration it carefully."

"You're really leaving us?"

"I must. There are other forces at work in the world, perhaps more dangerous than a dragon. My eyes are needed in other places. Perhaps I may see you again before the end of your quest, but for now, you will have to rely on yourselves alone."

Bell nibbled on the inside of her lip. She wanted to argue, to beg him to stay, but if he said he must go, surely he had a good reason for it. More dangerous than a dragon? Could there be such a thing? If there were, she supposed she would rather Gandalf stood between such a calamity and the world than with them in a dark, diseased forest.

"Remember what I said," Gandalf rose and gathered up a handful of water-skins. "Keep up your courage. With good luck and good planning you will reach the far side in one piece. Come along, now. The sooner all is packed, the sooner we can all be on our way."

#

Thorin helped Bell into her pack. It was heavy and awkward. She had to take off the sling to get it on, then put the sling back on over the strap.

"I can take some of it," Thorin said, eyeing her when she bent forward to handle the weight.

"No," she replied, a hint of strain in her voice. "Bilbo told me the Dwarves tried to keep our loads as light as they could. I can carry my own share."

"It'll get lighter soon enough," Bofur said. "We won't be filling them up again when we eat and drink. I expect we'll be wishing for heavy packs before long."

There was nothing else to say. Bofur was right. It would be one discomfort traded for another, and there was no way for either to be avoided.

"Then let's be on our way and put as much of this forest behind us as we can before nightfall," Thorin said. "The less time we spend in Thranduil's realm, the better."

Gandalf sat atop the white horse he'd borrowed from Beorn, the ponies on lead ropes all around him. "Remember Beorn's warnings. Keep to the path. If you leave it, a thousand to one odds you'll never find it again. Don't drink the water."

"We know, Gandalf," Thorin said. It bothered him that the wizard was leaving, but if it must happen, then he would rather it be over with. He nodded towards Dori, who stood closest to the shadows that marked the entry into Mirkwood. "Move out."

Dori turned and eyed the trees warily. "Well, Mirkwood," he muttered, "here we come. Do your worst."

The company followed after Dori. Thorin walked behind Bell, saw her hesitate for just a moment at the edge of the shadows, then move resolutely ahead. The thick cover of the trees blocked out most of the sun's rays, quickly turning daylight into dimness.

"Keep to the path!" Gandalf shouted after them.

Thorin readjusted his pack, balancing the weight evenly across his shoulders. This was a forest. He wouldn't let a stand of trees unnerve him. A tree could fall beneath his axe.

He followed after the rest and kept a sharp watch to the rear. The bow and arrows Beorn had provided hung at his back, and he took some comfort in them, and the rest of his weaponry.

This would be a long crossing.

#

Bell tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling that she was slowly being crushed. Some of it was the unaccustomed weight of her pack, but more came from the feeling that the trees themselves conspired to press them down. Very little light filtered through their dense branches, and what did was gray and smoky. The branches themselves hung low. If Gandalf had been with them, she thought he might have had to duck or remove his hat to pass beneath.

Worse, the trees were draped with heavy white cobwebs. Bell wasn't fond of spiders, but she'd never been able to convince herself to kill them. If she found them indoors, she would gather her nerve and trap them to release outside. She always felt shaky afterwards-they were creepy, crawly things, and some moved with surprising speed-but it was better than the pop-and-squoosh of their carapaces when they were crushed.

Still, looking at the size of these webs, she had the feeling she have to worry more about the spiders' mercy on herself, rather than the other way around. It was entirely discomfiting.

They paused twice to eat and drink, but only for a short while, pressing on again as soon as possible. There was little conversation. Everyone seemed to feel the effect of their surroundings.

Eventually, the gray darkened and Thorin called a reluctant halt. They built a fire with little time to spare before the light was gone entirely. There would be no tea here. What little water they had would have to last, and they all drank sparingly.

Bell huddled in her blanket and nibbled on a square of waybread. Something large thwapped against her head and she gave a startled shout, nearly dropping the bread. Ori, beside her, waved his arms at a massive, fluttering moth.

"Off!" he shouted. "Get it off!"

Soon, a veritable swarm of moths fluttered around them. They bounced off heads, careened between bodies as if they were drunk.

Miserable, Bell pulled her blanket over her head and curled her arm around her legs, trying to make herself as small a target as she could.

"It's the fire that's drawing them," Thorin growled beside her. "Put it out, or it'll only get worse."

Shuffling and grunting followed Thorin's command, and the light that filtered through Bell's blanket flickered and went out. The buffeting of the wings slowed, then vanished. Bell cautiously poked out her head. Blackness met her eyes. Pure, overwhelming blackness. She held up her hand in front of her face and saw nothing.

Then, out of the blackness, sharp glints of brightness. Eyes. Strange, faceted eyes in a ring around the company, both on the ground and overhead. A barely audible whimper forced itself past Bell's clenched lips.

"What are they?" Bilbo whispered from somewhere off to Bell's left.

"Don't know," Bell thought the voice was Fili's, "but I don't like the look of them."

Bell groped for Thorin in the darkness. Her hand found his, already reaching for her. She scooted closer and buried her head in his chest. There, she couldn't see the eyes.

"Keep your weapons to hand," Thorin said, "and set a watch. I'll take the first. If those things move on your watch, shout. The rest of you go to sleep. Bofur, I'll wake you in an hour."

The Dwarves grumbled, but obeyed.

Bell didn't think she could possibly sleep. Not in this utter darkness. Not with those eyes watching them, silent and menacing. Eventually, though, her weary body won out over it all. She slumped down, finally falling asleep with her head in Thorin's lap, his hand brushing slowly through her hair, soothing her into slumber.

#

**Author's Note: I had way too much fun with this chapter, especially the scene with Dwalin. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**


	27. Chapter 27

Thorin woke when Bell groaned and pressed herself off of his legs. She'd been so soundly asleep, he didn't like to wake her, so he'd simply leaned back after waking Bofur for his watch and slept where he was, without trying to find a more comfortable place. Not that he could have found one. The blackness of the woods was uncanny. As a Dwarf, he'd spent time in the depths of the mountains where night could not compete with the full darkness that seemed to press into one's lungs, overwhelming and almost sentient, but Mirkwood was the closest rival he'd found.

Bell groaned again, and Thorin opened his eyes. She sat beside him, her curls wild, hung with bits of leaves and pine needles. Moving gingerly, she twisted behind her, wincing with the motion.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Just sore. My ribs don't like sleeping folded over, it seems."

Thorin reached over and worked his fingers into the knots that traced the edges of her spine. She bent forward, letting out a sound somewhere between pain and relief. He knew the feeling. Around them, the rest of the Dwarves began to stir. Balin, who had been on the last watch, walking in circles around the boundary of their campsite, came back and folded up his blanket.

No one was eager to linger, not even Bombur, who was occasionally a challenge to get moving in the morning. They nibbled at their waybread, sipped from the water-skins, stowed their blankets, and were ready to go in record time. It was impossible to gauge the time, but it felt to Thorin as though it were still early. He didn't think it likely that much more light would penetrate the forest, even when the sun rose higher in the sky.

They set off at a brisk pace. Bell stayed close to him. She spoke little, saving her breath for the hike. Thorin didn't like to see her so weighted down beneath her pack. It was not an easy load, even for a Dwarf. Though she didn't complain, he could see it bothered her.

Fili and Kili came up beside him, unusually subdued. "What do you think those eyes were, Uncle?" asked Kili.

Thorin shook his head. "Some sort of insect, I think. They weren't eyes like ours, or even the woodland animals. Perhaps our fire drew them."

"Then why did they stay once it was out?"

"I don't know. I'm just grateful they did no more than watch." He hadn't released his grip on Orcrist's hilt even while he slept.

"All night, Thorin," said Fili. "My watch was just before Balin's. They were still there even then."

"Do you think they'll be back again?" asked Bell.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Thorin said. "Try not to worry, though. We'll keep close watch."

"Does everyone watch?"

Thorin nodded. "All of us. Not all every night. There's enough we can spread the watches out so only half lose sleep in a night."

They walked on a bit farther, the only sound the crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot and Bofur trying to hum a tune and get the others to join in up ahead. It wasn't working, although Thorin appreciated the effort. Anything to raise their spirits in the bleak place.

Bell's quiet voice broke the stillness. "I should keep a watch as well."

Thorin glanced over at her sharply. Was she joking? No, the downturn at the corners of her lips and the worried creases over her brows told him she wasn't.

Kili saved him the necessity of answering right away. "A watch? You, Bell?"

It was the first words his nephew had spoken to her since he'd walked in on them outside Beorn's house. Kili had been awkward around Thorin ever since. Thorin supposed it was hard for him to think of his uncle as a living breathing man, one who might be interested in matters of the heart, rather than gold, jewels, and the quest of Erebor.

"Does Bilbo take a watch?" Bell asked.

"He does, but he at least has a sword," Thorin said.

"And no idea how to really use it."

"He did well enough against the Defiler. Besides, do you really want to be awake, alone in the dark? You can't tell me you're not frightened of it."

"It's just that . . . I feel like I'm not pulling my weight."

"None of us thinks that, Miss Goodchild," Fili said, readjusting his pack. "You help in other ways. Ways you might not even be able to see yourself." His gaze flickered towards Thorin, so quickly Thorin almost missed the glance.

"But, really, all I'd need to do is shout a warning, and . . ."

"Bell," Thorin said, forestalling her words with a touch on her arm, just above the sling, "it's true you could shout as well as the next man, but even I need a second to fully rouse from sleep. What if that second made a difference? What if an armed watchman could have saved someone's life?"

"Besides," said Kili, "there are so many of us, we don't lose all that much sleep."

Bell subsided, but the worried frown didn't leave her face. Thorin massaged the space between his nose and his eyebrows. A headache was forming, and the longer they stayed beneath Mirkwood's eaves, the sharper it grew. As yet, he'd seen no sign of Elves. That was the only good thing he could think to ease his mind.

#

By the time nighttime fell, it felt as if they'd been walking forever, but covering no ground. There had been no change in the landscape. No subtle shift to the color of the trees, the density of the spiderwebs, or texture of the ground underfoot.

Bell trudged onward, one foot in front of the other, because there was no other choice. She didn't want to spend even one more night within the forest's borders, but Beorn had been clear that it would be a journey of several days. She was edgy and restless, a poor mixture with exhaustion.

Thorin called them to a halt with little time to spare before darkness overtook them. There was no talk of a fire. No one wanted a repeat of the previous night's moth swarm and, although no one said it out loud, she was sure she was not the only one who wondered if the lack of a fire would keep the eyes away.

Gloin chewed his bread with a grimace of distaste. "No offense, Miss Goodchild," he said. "This was tasty enough the first time, and not so bad the second, or even the third, but I'd give a good deal for the taste of fresh meat."

"No offense taken, Gloin," she said, slipping most of her ration back into her pack uneaten. "I agree with you."

"Beorn gave us bows and arrows," Nori said. "Why not try to shoot some game? I haven't seen much, but there have been a few squirrels in the branches. Wouldn't make much more than a mouthful, but it would be something."

"We should save the arrows in case we need them," Thorin said. "Besides, none of us, save Kili, has the aim to hit something as small as a squirrel."

A few argued that they could hit a squirrel very well, thank you, but Thorin was adamant. They wouldn't waste the arrows on hunting.

Bell watched the light fade. It fell into darkness so fast it was almost like being beneath a dropped cloth. This time, though, she was ready for it. She tried not to let the lack of sight bother her. She had other senses. Hearing, for one. The Dwarves were rarely truly silent. Their rustling and the clinking of their weapons filled the night. Smell. Mirkwood had a very particular scent. Ripe and sweet, like a cabbage left to rot, forgotten the corner of a larder. Also, she knew Thorin was nearby from his musky, spicy fragrance on the light breeze. Touch. No moths this night. No buffeting of heavy wings. A few stray wisps of cobweb floated on the wind, occasionally catching against her face. She wiped them away, trying not to think about the spider that had woven them.

There was nothing to taste, given that they couldn't sample what little water they'd passed, and unless Thorin relented on the subject of hunting, there was little likelihood of tasting any of the game. Bell thought it was likely she wasn't missing much.

"Whose watch is first?" Fili asked.

"Mine," came Dwalin's familiar growl.

Bell knew that Thorin had told her she couldn't take a watch, but the continuing feeling of uselessness dogged her. She understood Thorin's reasoning, but no matter that Fili said no one felt like she was avoiding her fair share of work, she didn't quite believe him. If she felt it herself, surely some of the others must as well, and of those, she thought Dwalin would be among the first.

"May I stand the watch with you?" she asked.

Thorin shifted beside her. "We talked about this, Bell."

"You said I couldn't keep my own watch. Not that I couldn't help the others. Surely two sets of eyes is better than one?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were ill-chosen. How many pairs of eyes were watching them now?

Thorin took breath to reply, but Bell kept talking, before he could respond. "Please. Let me do this. It will be safe enough with Dwalin."

"I wouldn't argue with it," came Dwalin's voice from the darkness.

There was a long silence, then Thorin spoke. His tone was clipped and tight. "Bell, if you stand a watch, you stand it armed. Kili, give her one of your knives."

She didn't want a knife, but with the eyes watching and the Dwarves listening, she didn't think she could back down. She'd only look foolish for pressing the issue. "So be it," she said. Her voice came out less assuredly than she'd hoped.

"Here," came Kili's voice. "Pass this down."

Soon Thorin pressed the hilt of Kili's knife into her hand. "I don't like this," he whispered, close to her ear.

Her hand closed around the knife's handle, her finger grazing Thorin's. "I don't either," she replied, "but I need to do it anyways."

"Enough talking," Dwalin grumbled. "Everyone go to bed. Bell, you watch the eyes behind me, and I'll keep an eye on the ones behind you. Everything in-between we watch together."

"I understand."

#

The company was up with the first brightening of gray dawn. Thorin's eyes were gritty and everyone was out of sorts. Not even Bofur tried to crack a joke or find a tune to raise their spirits.

Bell had a haunted look to her, and she jumped at the smallest sounds coming from the underbrush. Thorin wasn't surprised. He hadn't slept while she and Dwalin had kept the watch. He couldn't. Not when he could feel her shaking beside him. He'd waited, expecting her to reach out to him, to seek to soothe her fears, but she hadn't done it. She resolutely remained sitting until Dwalin finally rousted Bifur.

The minute her watch was over Bell had curled into a ball with her blanket over her head. Her breathing didn't slow for a long time. It came in hitched, uneven pants. Thorin knew that breathing. It was the kind he suffered when the nightmares woke him. Panic, deep and vital. Why didn't she reach for him? Had he been too gruff? Did she think she'd angered him? More than once, he almost decided to go to her, but doubt gnawed at him. If she wanted his help, she'd come to him. Wouldn't she?

Not until she'd finally drifted off had Thorin found himself able to sleep, and then only lightly.

A twig snapped just out of sight from the trail. Bell startled, taking an awkward step back, straight into Thorin's chest. He caught her by the arm before she could unbalance further. She glanced back at him, a brilliant flush rising up her face. "I'm sorry." Her voice was breathless. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

Thorin didn't release her arm. They had to talk. "Wait with me."

Dori, who was at the end of the line gave Thorin a questioning look when he passed.

"Go ahead, Dori. We'll catch up in a moment."

Once the company was out of sight, Thorin turned Bell until she was facing him, her shoulders between his hands. "There can't be another night like last night," he said. "Not if it leaves you like this."

"I'm all right," she said, not meeting his eyes. "It'll get easier. You said it gets easier."

"You're not all right. And when you're not all right, neither am I. I'm exhausted. I hardly slept last night."

Her expression shifted to one of worry and her gaze rose to his face. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know. I tried to be quiet. I didn't mean to bother you. You needed rest."

His frustration softened at her contrite look and the realization that she'd kept her fear to herself out of worry for him. He touched a curl at the side of her face. The tendril ringed around his fingers. "Do you think I don't know when you're in distress? Do you think I can ignore it? I can't."

"It was worse than I expected." She hesitated, looking down at her hands. "I knew Dwalin was there, but with nothing to see but those eyes . . . my mind kept playing tricks on me. I kept thinking they were moving, but they weren't. I'd think to shout, but then realize I was wrong. Time and again, until my heart couldn't stop racing and I couldn't stop imagining what would happen if I was right."

"So you won't ask to do it again?"

Bell bit on her lip. When she spoke again, her voice trembled on the edge of tears. "I must, Thorin. I know you don't understand, but I must."

No. He didn't understand. Didn't understand why she wouldn't let him protect her from the long dark of the night. Why she couldn't put aside this misplaced sense of guilt.

"If you insist on doing that again," he said, "you'll stand the watch with me. And you'll stop before you work yourself into panic. I am the leader of this company, Bell, and I won't have any of us compromised. Do you understand?"

She nodded dejectedly. "I understand. I'm sorry."

Bell looked so small, her head bent, pointed ears peeking through her curls, shoulders pulled in close. Thorin sighed and pulled her to him. It felt right to have her back in his arms. He hadn't realized how much it bothered him to think she didn't want him to hold her. "We'll all of us be happier when we're out of this place."

Her head nodded against his chest. "I'll try to be stronger."

"Let me be the strong one for now," he said.

She gave a rueful laugh. "Why does it always seem that whenever one of us is weak, the other rises up to be the rock?"

Thorin smiled, his first true smile since setting foot under Mirkwood's branches, and tightened his embrace. "Someday we'll both be strong at the same time. Then let the world tremble."

#

**Author's Note: I'm facing an upcoming dilemma. The way Peter Jackson introduced Thranduil, he should clearly know Thorin and Thorin definitely knows him, so the scene with the Mirkwood Elves cannot go down exactly as it does in the book. It wouldn't make sense. I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to deal with this. Slowing me down while I plot. That, and I had to write a short story for a contest.**


	28. Chapter 28

Thorin pulled away. The company would be getting too far ahead, and they needed to catch up. "Come on," he said. "We've been gone too long."

Bell nodded and turned up the trail. He let her set the pace, as fast as she could comfortably go. It wasn't as fast as he'd like, but he wasn't about to leave her behind to catch up faster.

Much sooner than he expected, they came around a corner and found the company gathered in a circle in the center of the trail, peering at something in the middle.

"What's going on?" Thorin asked, moving ahead of Bell. They shouldn't be stopped, and something in some of their stances told him he wasn't going to like the answer to his question.

Bofur glanced over his shoulder. "Nori's shot himself a squirrel," he said, stepping back to reveal the little corpse, one arrow embedded through its chest.

Thorin's shoulders tightened and his hand clenched. "I told you not to waste the arrows on hunting."

"It only took a few shots," Nori said, scratching his sleeve. "I said I was good enough to take out a squirrel."

"How many shots is a few?" Thorin asked, stalking into Nori's space, his voice low and dangerous.

Nori flinched back a step. His gaze flashed from Thorin to his brothers and back again. "Three? Or maybe four? It's an unfamiliar bow. Had to get the feel of it."

"Five, Uncle," said Fili. He pointed at the dead squirrel. "That's the fifth."

"And where are the rest?"

"Lost in the forest," Dwalin growled. He gave Nori a backhanded slap to his chest. "Can't follow them off the path, can we? I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. I'd have grabbed his bow before he got the next shot off."

Nori shifted his feet uncomfortably. "We need the meat. We can't live off waybread alone. There's been no sign of the far side of this cursed forest. Our supplies are already running low. And here's a fine morsel."

Thorin clenched his teeth against the shout that wanted to burst free. Five arrows for a squirrel. "You disobeyed my command, Nori, and now we're weakened. What if we come across Elves? Orcs? What then? Will a squirrel save us?"

"I . . ." Nori stared down at his hands, unable to look Thorin in the face. "We're just hungry."

"We're not animals. We can be hungry and still keep our sense of reason." Thorin fought against his urge to throttle Nori. The younger Dwarf had been on his own too long before answering the call for the quest of Erebor. He'd forgotten what it was to be under someone else's command, but that wasn't an excuse. Thorin's blood simmered.

"Thorin?" came Bell's quiet voice. "It's getting late. I'd feel better if we could cover a bit more ground before night falls."

He blew out a slow breath, not turning to look at her. Clever hobbit. She knew that wasting time here would solve nothing, and that he would shelve his anger, at least for the moment, if she appealed to his protective side. It also gave him a reason for backing down that wouldn't be seen as losing face.

Thorin pressed a finger into Nori's breastbone. "Pick up your squirrel, and move out. All of you."

Nori bent and retrieved his ill-gotten prey. It dangled limply from the arrow's shaft.

In silence, the company moved off again eastward.

"And, Nori," Thorin said, "you'll stand a double watch tonight." If nothing else, it would give him, and Bell, a night to catch up on lost sleep.

#

Two more days, and Bell felt as if she were walking through a perpetual mist, not in the forest, but in her mind. The waybread was dwindling, and she hardly dared to drink from her rapidly emptying water-skins. Nori's squirrel had proved to be inedible. Even if anyone else had thought to flaunt Thorin's command, they wouldn't do it now.

Bell moved through the days like a wraith, there, but not fully present. It was easier to withdraw into her thoughts. To imagine herself back in her comfortable hole, with sunlight streaming in through the round windows. She began to feel as if the sun were a dream, something that belonged in legend. She thought of Hamfast's roses. How he'd told her they longed for the sun, and couldn't thrive without it. She felt like those roses. Stifled and stunted, tipped with brittle thorns.

The hours blended into an endless blur until a new sound filtered through the trees. Water. Running water. Bell's parched throat constricted. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel cool wetness slipping down her throat.

The source of the sound revealed itself quickly. A swift-flowing river, its waters inky black, sliced a wide line across the path. This had to be the river Beorn had warned them about. Do not drink the water. Do not touch it. The black water is enchanted with unending sleep for any who drink of it.

"It's not right," Kili said in an undertone. "So much water, and not a drop to drink. When we're out of this place, I'm going to find a spring and drink until I float."

"Don't even talk about it," Fili replied. "It only makes me feel worse."

"The question," said Balin, "is how do we cross it."

Once, there had been a bridge spanning the river, but it had rotted away, leaving nothing but decaying logs jutting out of the water, too far apart to leap across, even if they were feeling foolish enough to try.

The darkness of the forest was even deeper than usual, casting the scene in shades of twilight. Bell inched towards the edge of the riverbank to join Bilbo, who stood there already, staring out across the black water.

"There's a boat on the far side," he said.

Bell squinted. Bilbo was right.

"How far?" Thorin asked.

"Not too far. I think someone with a strong arm would be able to throw a rope to it."

None of the Dwarves save Fili could see the boat clearly enough to make the throw, so Thorin's nephew, under Bilbo's guidance, took a rope, with a hook tied to the end, and tossed it out over the river. It took more than one attempt, but soon the little boat was hooked. It did not come directly free, so a number of the Dwarves grabbed hold of their end of the rope and pulled together.

The boat came loose with a snap and rushed towards them. Bell backed away from the bank just before the skiff came careening partway up onto the shore. The Dwarves who had been pulling landed hard on their hind ends.

"Well done," said Bilbo. "That was a good pull."

"How'll we get it across?" asked Dori, eyeing the boat as if it might take into its wooden head to bite him.

"Give me another length of rope," said Kili. He tied it to an arrow and, sighting across the river to a particularly large tree, he shot it across. "Tie it off on this side. We can pull ourselves across."

"That," Thorin muttered, "is a good use of an arrow." He reached down and tested the boat's draft. "This won't hold many. We'll take it in turns. I'll go first with the hobbits. Take it in threes and twos after. Bombur, you come last with Dwalin."

Bombur stuffed his thumbs under his belt. "Why am I always last? It's someone else's turn to be last."

"Do as you're told, Bombur, and no complaining," said Fili. "Someone's got to be last. Besides, Dwalin's last as well."

Bell tried to ignore the squabbling. The water rushed past, dark and fast. She didn't want to be on it, not even in a boat. It looked evil, and she almost felt as if the white foam that formed around barely submerged rocks was mocking her. Taunting. Daring her to come within reach.

"Bell," Thorin said, beckoning her to him. "Give me your hand."

She squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a sharp breath. When she reopened her eyes, she forced herself to move. Thorin's hand was steady as he handed her into the boat. It rocked underfoot. She sank rapidly to her knees and clung to the gunwales. Thorin came next, and Bilbo behind him. The two men took the rope in their hands.

"Push us off," Thorin said.

The boat slipped fully into the current. Bilbo grunted in the rear as the river tried to drag the boat downstream, away from the fixed line. Bell felt the pull. Felt Thorin tense behind her.

She'd finally taken off the sling that morning. Now was the time to see if her arm was back to full use. She let go of the sides and took hold of the rope, lending her strength to the pull. Her elbow twinged, but obeyed. Slowly, the boat cut through the water to the far shore.

Once they reached the far bank, Thorin and Bilbo held the rope steady while Bell clambered out and held the bow long enough for Thorin to follow after. As soon as Bilbo was safe on the bank, the Dwarves hauled back on the first rope, which remained hooked in the stern.

"It's a hard pull, lads," Thorin called back. "Be ready for it."

Slowly, the company made their cautious way across until all that remained were Bombur and Dwalin. Bell tried to stay out of the way. She stood near the edge of the river, just downstream from the crossing, watching. Bombur and Dwalin drew near, close enough she could see Bombur puffing, his face nearly as red as his hair. The prow of the skiff touched the shore. Dwalin hopped out and turned to give the ginger Dwarf a hand.

There was a loud crack and a huge shape bounded out of the trees, barreling down the path towards the company. Dwarves shouted, dove aside. The shape resolved itself into the form of a stag, pronged antlers stretching wide. Bell stood in its path, frozen. Its haunches bunched to leap.

"Get down!" Thorin shouted.

Bell dropped to her knees on the riverbank, her hands over her head. The stag sailed past, where her head had been moments before. A sharp bite of wind sliced past behind it. Bell glanced up to see an arrow embed itself into the animal's rump as it cleared the broad expanse of the river.

A splash drew Bell's attention. _Bombur_. The stag's leap had unbalanced him, and he'd toppled back into the river. He flailed his arms, the river's grip pulling him downstream towards her.

Bell didn't think. She raced into the water, up to her thighs in the swift current, and grabbed Bombur by the belt. He stopped fighting, and suddenly she was clinging to a dead weight. Bilbo was shouting. The river tried to tear her off her feet. She leaned upstream. Her feet slipped and slid in the silty riverbed. Her shoulder screamed in agony. "Help!" she shrieked. She wasn't going to be able to keep her footing. They'd both be swept away.

"Grab the rope!" Dwalin shouted, and a heavy coil landed just ahead of her. She grabbed it with her left hand and wrapped it around her forearm. "Pull, lads!"

The Dwarves pulled her towards them. Pain lanced through her arms. She felt as if she were being torn in two. A stifled groan forced itself past her gritted teeth, but she didn't release her grip on Bombur, who hung as still as death. It felt like forever, but couldn't have been more than a few seconds-she couldn't have kept her grip for any longer-then Thorin had her by the hand, dragging her the last few inches to shore, and more hands pulled Bombur free of the river's grip.

"Are you hurt?" Thorin's voice was harsh, his face ashen.

Bell struggled to breathe and her arms throbbed, but she shook her head. "See to Bombur," she gasped.

Thorin squeezed her hand and joined the group of Dwarves gathered around their unconscious companion. "He's breathing," someone said, and "Bombur, wake up," said another. They shook him. Poked him. Prodded at him.

Bell tried to watch, but a heavy chill took hold of her legs, rising inch by inch up her body. Her head swam. Her pulse fluttered. She couldn't move her legs. Could barely raise her hand. A swarm of midges buzzed in her brain. So loud. What were they doing inside her? Why couldn't she shake her head? Why was the world going black?

"Thorin?" her voice was a terrified whisper. "Thorin, help . . ."

Blackness slammed down on her like a vise, and she knew no more.

#

**Author's Note: Hoping to get one more chapter up at least before the weekend. I'll be away in a place with no internet over the weekend, so I may even be able to get ahead, although I won't be able to post while I'm gone.**


	29. Chapter 29

Bombur lay curled on his side, his breath coming in loud snores. The Dwarves huddled around him. Bofur knelt at his brother's side and Thorin rested a hand on his shoulder. Bofur pulled open one of Bombur's eyelids. "Wake up," he urged.

The unconscious Dwarf made no response. Bofur released the eyelid and slapped him hard. "Wake up, brother!" When even the slap showed no sign of rousing Bombur, Bofur looked up at the rest, tears dampening his eyes. "Why? Why'd he have to go and do a thing like this? What if he never wakes? What'll I do then?"

Balin shook his head. "Beorn said drinking the water would make it so you never wake. He didn't actually specify what dunking would do."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"What do we do now?" asked Ori, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wringing his hands.

Thorin's headache slammed back into place. He knew fate had been too kind to him of late. A disaster was bound to happen, and this most certainly qualified. "We'll have to carry him," he said. "We can't stay here. We'll only starve ourselves."

"Carry Bombur?" asked Kili, his voice rising. "How?"

Dori, who was kneeling beside Bofur clapped a hand on Bofur's knee. "He looks peaceful, at any rate," he said. "See, he's smiling."

"Lucky to be breathing, he is," Dwalin muttered. "If it weren't for Miss Goodchild, he'd have been swept away before the rest of us could've reached him."

A flash of the scene replayed in Thorin's mind. Disbelief when Bombur toppled into the river. Shock when Bell ran in after him. Icy cold fear when he thought the river would take them both and he was, once again, too far away to save them.

He glanced at the clustered company, seeking her out. She wasn't there. "Bell?" He turned towards where he had left her, dripping wet from the river.

Bell sprawled lifeless across the pathway. Her arm was twisted awkwardly beneath her, curls tumbled haphazardly. Sick dread surged through his veins. Thorin cursed and ran to her, lifting her up to release her trapped arm. Her body slumped in his grasp, unresisting. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening.

He shook her gently, then harder, harder. "Wake up, Bell." _Don't do this_. _Don't make me lose you already_.

"Not too hard, Thorin," said Balin. "You'll hurt her if you're not careful."

Thorin glared at his old friend and growled wordlessly, his mind screaming _I would never hurt her_.

Bilbo squatted down beside him and touched Bell's limp hand. "The river's taken her, too." His eyes squeezed shut. "I _hate_ this place."

"At least Bell is carry-able," said Kili. "I still don't see how we're going to move Bombur."

Thorin slipped Bell's pack off her shoulders. "We're Dwarves. We'll manage it. Take him in shifts. Four of you should do it. Dwalin, we'll need to portion out their supplies between the rest of us. See to it." He readjusted his grip, scooped Bell into his arms, and rose, grateful his injured side had healed, as the wizard had promised. "I want as much distance between us and that cursed river before nightfall as we can manage."

#

The going was painfully slow. At first, Bell was an easy burden, her head lolling against Thorin's neck, but even a person as small as she was became a challenge over time. The pallor clinging to her skin seemed to leech away all her color, leaving her an ashen shade of gray. Worse, while Bombur smiled in his sleep, Bell's eyes flicked rapidly from side to side beneath her lids, as if she were watching something, and from time to time a body-shaking shudder ran through her.

She was trapped in a nightmare, and there was nothing Thorin could do, save keep on walking and hope that somehow she knew he was with her.

Balin came up beside him. "You should let someone else take a turn carrying her," he said. "Take a rest, then give the lads a hand with Bombur."

Thorin bit back a sharp response. If Bombur hadn't been clumsy enough to fall, they wouldn't be in this position at all. The stag hadn't hit him. Hadn't even come particularly close.

Rather than waste his breath arguing, he ignored Balin and kept walking, but the white-haired Dwarf didn't give it up. "Thorin, you're one of the strongest men here. They need you. How long do you think Ori can keep up? What about Oin? Bilbo?"

Thorin stopped and turned so that Balin could see Bell's face. "Look at her," he hissed, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't be overheard. "Does she look peaceful to you? I don't know what she's seeing, but I promise you it isn't good. And you want me to abandon her?"

Balin reached a hand towards the hobbit's shoulder, hesitated, then laid it down softly. "Do you think you're the only one of us who cares for her? She's one of the company, and every one of us would give our lives for her, as we would for each other. Even my brother."

Thorin's eyes flashed to Balin's face. He hadn't thought Dwalin had mentioned their confrontation to anyone.

"I'm not a fool, Thorin," Balin said. "I know my brother better than he thinks. I've always been able to read him."

The groaning of the men hauling Bombur drew nearer. Thorin glanced back. Bifur, Dwalin, Nori, and Dori struggled to keep the rotund Dwarf off the ground and moving forward. Bifur stumbled and lost his grip on Bombur's leg. It dropped down with a thud, setting off a new round of snoring.

Thorin squeezed his eyes shut. Balin was right. "Fili," he called. "Come here."

His nephew hurried towards him.

Thorin dropped down on one knee and settled Bell's weight on his thigh. "Bell," he whispered, close to her ear, "I have to help the others, but I won't be far." She gave no indication of hearing him, just shivered in her sleep.

"Yes, Uncle?" said Fili.

Thorin looked up at his nephew. "I need you to take Miss Goodchild. Treat her gently."

Fili clapped him on the shoulder. "You don't need to tell me. I'll watch over her for you."

With a grunt, Thorin got to his feet and handed the limp bundle that was Bell into Fili's arms, settling her head gently against his nephew's shoulder. His hand cupped the back of her neck, buried in her hair. Her skin was cold.

"I've got her," Fili said. "Go."

Thorin caught his nephew's gaze. Blue eyes, that Thorin had so long seen in the face of a child looked back him, calm and confident. Fili wasn't a child any longer. He was a man now. A man Thorin could trust.

He gave Fili a sharp nod and turned away. "Bifur! Take a rest. Gloin, spell him. I'll come in next." He needed a minute to rest his arms and back. By rights, he should feel lighter now that he was unburdened, but he found the weight on his heart was heavier even than Bombur.

#

All through the rest of that day they struggled onward until the light gave out. Too tired to do more than set down their burdens, they ate some of their quickly dwindling rations and fell into exhausted sleep. Thorin settled Bell beside him, then closed his eyes and tried to shut off his mind long enough to rest. His body was sapped, and no matter how much he prayed for a miracle, he saw little hope for anything better than another long day of dragging the unconscious companions through the shadowy forest.

It wasn't until he rolled onto his side and drew Bell close that he was finally able to relax at all. He needed her back. Needed her to open her eyes and smile and tell him that everything was all right. That he hadn't made the worst decision of his life when he let her convince him to take her with him past the safe boundaries of Rivendell.

At last, the day's labors finally caught up with Thorin, and his eyes slipped shut.

#

_The river forced Bell's body down, down, down, crushed beneath the raging water. She struggled towards the surface, panic making her already awkward movements sharp, brittle, useless. Her flailing legs tangled in her skirts. Debris shot past, battering against her body. Only a tiny bit of air remained in her burning lungs. Patches of glimmering light shot past as the river whipped her in helpless circles._

_There had been no beginning of this horror. She didn't remember falling. Did it take this long to drown? She almost wished for the last gasp of air to finally fail. To be released from the endless terror of knowing that each moment might be her last. How long could a person teeter on the brink of death without toppling over the edge?_

_But somehow she kept on living. Almost as if something beyond her awareness gave her a strength she didn't know she had. Something to reach for. Something worth fighting to return to. It should be easy to let the river take her, but no matter how weary, no matter how little hope Bell had left, she battled on. Each time the light swam past, she fought towards it._

_After a long time, longer than should have been possible, she thought the light patch grew larger, brighter. The buffeting current and its hidden debris slowed. Her lungs clenched in a desperate spasm. There was nothing left. After all this time, finally, when she was making progress, her body now failed her._

_Darkness pressed in at the sides of her vision, tunneling the world until all that remained was the diffuse, rippling glimpse of daylight. With the last of the her strength, she scissored her legs reflexively, fighting towards the surface._

_In the instant before the world turned to blackness, her head burst free of the river's grasp._

#

Bell's eyes flew open and she gasped in a breath. Air flooded her lungs, thick, cool, and musky. She sucked in another breath, desperate to know it was still there. That she wasn't still beneath in the river's surface. She grabbed for a handhold, anything to pull herself further from the river's powerful grasp.

Her hands clenched in warm fur and on worn leather. Someone was holding her up, someone with strong arms and a deep voice that told her over and over that it was a dream. She was safe. Safe.

She didn't release her grip on her rescuer. Tried to focus on his words. A dream. She'd woken from a dream. It hadn't been real. It was over now.

Slowly, her breathing began to calm and she was able to take stock of herself. She was cool, but not wet. No sign of drowning. Only a gnawing, aching hunger and a thirst so bone-deep she couldn't quite believe she wanted water so badly, after waking from a nightmare of drowning.

Nothing made sense. The smells that surrounded her were unfamiliar. The voices, more so, but only a little. She opened her eyes, but everything was a dark blur. Where was she? The last thing she remembered, she'd been in the wilderness. That much she was sure of. The wilderness, with Bilbo, and a company of Dwarves. They'd run off. Something had captured Bilbo. Something . . . _trolls_!

She began to struggle. They'd been captured. All of them. She'd been huddling behind a log, frozen into inaction. Had she fallen into sleep and been taken too?

"Let me go!" she shrieked. "Let go of me!"

The arms holding Bell captive tightened. She fought, pressing herself away. Pounding against the hard strength that trapped her.

Suddenly, she was free. Bell's feet touched the ground and she staggered backwards, only just catching herself before she could fall. Her eyes finally drew into focus. Dwarves stood ringed around her, Thorin Oakenshield just in front of her. One of his hands reached towards her, inches away from her arm. He looked . . . _afraid_?

Bell forced herself to breathe. To think. The light was thick and gray. Cobwebs hung in tattered sheets from dark trees. This didn't look anything like the forest where she last remembered hiding in the dark. A coward. Where was Mister Baggins? Her eyes found her employer watching her with a look of confusion on his face.

She swallowed hard. Clearly, she'd missed something important. "Where are we?" she asked, frustrated to find her voice shaking. "And how did you escape the trolls?"

Thorin's head tilted, his eyes narrowing. "Trolls?"

"You were captured. Trussed up like live game. I was . . . hiding. I was . . ."

She glanced from face to face, reading surprise, disbelief, shock, and horror there.

"What is it? What's happened?" Her voice rose towards a hysterical pitch.

The Dwarf prince took a cautious step toward her, his eyes so dark they were nearly black. Bell stepped away instinctively. What had she done now? Why did he look like storm and thunder?

Bilbo reached out a hand and placed it between herself and Thorin, giving the Dwarf a sharp look and a shake of his head. "This is Mirkwood, Bell. Do you remember getting here?"

She shook her head, trying to call up the memory of the map she'd seen once before, earlier in the journey. "Mirkwood? But that's on the far side of the Misty . . . Mountains?" she hesitated, the import of his words crashing down on her as if she were back beneath the river once again.

"Bell, it's all right," Bilbo said, wrapping a hand around her upper arm. "We're all here. You've just had a bit of an, er, incident."

"I don't understand."

"Just trust me for now," he said. "We need to keep moving. Can you walk?"

Bell nodded. "I think so. Is . . . is there any water?"

Before anyone else could move, Thorin pulled a waterskin from his belt and handed it to her. She took it, her hand shaking under his fierce stare.

"Don't drink too much," Bilbo said. "We've not got much-"

"Take what you need," Thorin's voice cut across the hobbit's.

Bell's eyes leapt between the two men, unsure whose instructions to follow. She unstoppered the skin, meaning to take only one swig, but her parched throat urged her to a second. Then, she forced herself to stop and hand the skin back to Thorin.

"Thank you," she said, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes. Her gaze fell on Bombur, snoring in the middle of the path. "Bombur?"

"I'm afraid you both went into a cursed river," said Bilbo. "You've been asleep nearly a full day. But, since you're back with us now, maybe we can hope for him to return to consciousness soon as well. That would be a blessing. He's very difficult to carry."

Four of the Dwarves gathered up the rotund Dwarf and lurched down the trail. Bilbo turned her east after them and herded her forward.

Bell walked on unfeeling feet, patently aware of Thorin staring after her. Her mind tried to calculate how many days they must have traveled to reach as far as Mirkwood, but balked at the answer. Impossible. She couldn't have forgotten so much. But every time she tried to think back to what had come before waking from the dream, all she found was the deafening rush of the river.

She felt empty and sick, and had the horrible feeling that she'd forgotten something very important indeed.

#

**Author's Note: Wow. I've been busy and under the weather, but managed to get this chapter written finally. Have hardly had a chance to proofread it, so I hope I haven't made any stupid typing errors, but I wanted to get it posted in the brief internet window I have here. Sorry about the delay.**


	30. Chapter 30

Thorin struggled ahead, shouldering the weight of Bombur's left side. Never would he have thought to be grateful for such hard labor, but keeping the large Dwarf off the ground required most of his attention, forcing him to keep from fixating on Bell's back.

The sight of her standing upright, walking under her own power, albeit with a weary lurch to her step, should have been the light that brightened this dark place, but way she'd struggled in his arms, fought him until he released her for fear of hurting her, looked at him as if he were the next thing to a stranger . . .

He almost wished she was still sleeping. Then he could have held on to hope that she would wake and everything would be as it had been before.

Not now.

Curse fate and her cruel desire to bring him low at every turn. To be given the gift of love for the first time in his long life only for it to be torn away as if it had never happened felt like the hand of doom clenching around him, squeezing every ounce of hope from the heart he thought had turned to stone years ago.

Stone would have been easier than this.

He stumbled over an unnoticed tree root and nearly lost his grip on Bombur.

Dwalin clapped Thorin on the shoulder. "Take a rest. Let me have a turn."

"No." Thorin readjusted his grip, grunting as he hefted Bombur's weight higher on his shoulder.

"You've been at it for the last two hours."

Thorin pinned Dwalin with a glare. "Are you saying I don't have the strength for it?"

Dwalin raised his hands palms up in from of him. "I'm not saying that. But wearing yourself into exhaustion isn't going to make things any better."

Thorin didn't reply. In truth, his muscles strained, his lungs burned, and he wasn't at all sure how long he could keep going. Somewhere there was an end to his reserves, and that somewhere was close. But what else could he do? He didn't trust himself to go near Bell. He'd seen the way she flinched from him-the fear behind her eyes-but if he weren't tied to the work of moving Bombur, he didn't know if he'd have the strength to keep away.

They walked on in silence a while longer before Dwalin spoke again, "It might not be forever. She might remember. She woke up, after all."

The thought had occurred to Thorin-how could it not?-but he refused to put any faith in it. He knew his own luck. Hope would only bring more pain in the end.

His gaze sought Bell out unbidden. She walked beside the burglar like a weary wisp with faltering footsteps. She held her arms wrapped around herself, as if she thought she might fall apart if she let go. The only part of her with any life was her hair, and even that wild tangle only served to make the rest of her appear lifeless in comparison.

What must it be like, to discover such a massive chunk of memory gone? How could she cope with the hole? What was Bilbo telling her?

Thorin hoped it was a modified version of the tale. The only positive he could see to this was that so many terrifying events had been scrubbed from her memory. Wargs, stone giants, goblins, the Defiler. Perhaps in that way, this was a kindness.

He tried to weigh whether his own loss was balanced by the opportunity for her to live her life free of such memories. Maybe it was. He could better bear it. He'd borne other losses. Surely he could bear this one.

"Do you remember what I said to her?" Dwalin asked, breaking into Thorin's reverie, his voice low so as not to be overheard. "That if she broke your heart, she'd answer to me?"

"If you dare-"

"Let me finish," Dwalin interrupted. "I know she didn't do this a-purpose, but I have to say this to you. If you let her slip away out of some misplaced sense of honor, then _you'll_ answer to me."

Thorin clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Were his thoughts so easy to read? And what right did Dwalin have to give him ultimatums? "You forget yourself."

Movement up ahead drew his attention. Bell staggered, nearly falling before Bilbo caught her arm. She ended up standing in profile to himself, pressing the back of her hand to her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut, face white.

They'd pushed her too hard. She'd been under the river's spell for so long, eating nothing. Small wonder she looked like to faint. "It's time for a break," Thorin shouted up the line, his voice much more severe than he intended. "Everybody get some rest."

#

Bell didn't open her eyes until her head stopped spinning. When she thought she could sit down without falling down, she let herself sink to the earth. Hunger was a gaping hole in her belly, but the hole in her memory was worse.

Bilbo had stayed by her side while they walked, giving her little bits of encouragement and the reassurance of his company, but when she tried to ask him about what had happened, how they'd managed to get so far to the east, he'd avoided answering. That avoidance made her even more apprehensive than she'd been to start with.

The Dwarves kept their distance as well. Surely, if they'd been traveling companions for so long, it was odd that they didn't speak beyond murmured expressions of gladness that she was awake again?

The crunch of boots on hard soil came near and Bell glanced up to find Thorin approaching. His face bore the semblance of calm, but his eyes still held a hard edge and his fingers clenched in the fabric of the pack he carried so hard the knuckles were white. "You need to eat," he said, handing her the pack. "There's waybread in here."

Bell took it and untied the drawstring with hands that insisted on shaking. She unwrapped a piece of bread and nibbled at it. It had a strong honey flavor that tugged at her mind, but when she tried to pull the recollection above the surface of the river, the waters surged up past her ankles-from where they never seemed to retreat-towards her thighs. Her insides went cold and she turned her thoughts forcibly away from the tempting thread of memory.

Thorin remained where he was, looming over her like a standing stone. Did he think to frighten her? She swallowed a bite of bread in a dry throat. "You were going to leave me behind," she said.

"Things . . . didn't fall out as I planned."

It was more than she'd gotten out of Bilbo. Bell's hand settled on her knee, the bulk of the waybread still uneaten. "These clothes," she said, looking down at herself. "They're not mine, and I don't recognize the make."

"They were given to you by the Elves in Rivendell."

"Rivendell?" She curled the fingers of her free hand in the tunic's fabric. "We passed through Rivendell? But you said you wouldn't go there. Gandalf wanted . . ." she glanced up at him. "Where is Gandalf? Did something happen to him?" Her pulse began to race. What could have happened that would fell a wizard?

"Gandalf left us on the borders of Mirkwood. He was well, when last I saw him."

"Why would-"

"Enough questions," Thorin growled, gesturing at the waybread. "Eat. You need to keep up your strength."

Bell flinched at the tone of his voice, but couldn't quite make it match with his words. Why would he be trying to keep her strong if he was angry? Trying to make heads or tails of what was going on was exhausting. She closed her eyes and took a breath meant to be calming. It didn't work. "Bilbo said we have to ration the food."

"Is Mister Baggins the leader of this company?"

Bell shook her head.

"Then do what I tell you. If you faint, we'll only have to carry you again."

Thorin stalked away, his back rigid. Bell watched him go, frowning. Whatever she'd done, she'd clearly upset him. She wondered if there were any blackberry bushes in Mirkwood. It had seemed to help when she'd given him tea before.

#

Thorin kept to himself after the break. Dwalin had taken his place with Bombur and the other Dwarves who joined him were all rested. There was no good way to force himself back in. Instead, he retreated to the solitude of the back of the column.

He should have known better than to try to speak to Bell. When every fiber of him longed to draw her close and tell her he loved her, it seemed the only way to hold himself in check was to fall back on his familiar habit of distancing himself through surliness.

He could see he upset her, and why wouldn't she be upset? How did snarling help anything? But he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't just say, _Oh, by the way, somewhere between there and here you became the heart of my world_. She wouldn't believe him.

All he could do was see to it she was cared for. From a distance, if possible. If he couldn't control his actions, he would only make things worse. At least she'd eaten. A little bit of color had returned to her cheeks and she walked now without looking like she were about to topple, even though she'd insisted on being given back her share of the supplies to carry.

By the time night slammed down over the forest, they were all staggering. The slim rations weren't enough to keep up such a pace, and carrying Bombur taxed them badly. Surely he had to wake soon. Bell had been conscious for hours now although, admittedly, she'd not gone so deeply into the river.

Thorin called them to a halt with a few minutes to spare before full darkness. The company took turns ducking out into the trees to answer the call of nature. While Bell was out of sight, Thorin took the opportunity to break off some of his own bread and place it in her pack, and to pour some of the contents of his waterskin into hers.

The Dwarves set out their blankets. Thorin thought of putting Bell's on the far side of the company, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Whether she was uncomfortable with him or not, he wasn't going to leave her in the forest's blackness without being nearby.

#

Bell rejoined the company and found her blankets already laid out, between Dwalin and Thorin. She supposed she must have been sleeping among the men, or her things would have been away from the rest, as they had been for as much of the journey as she could remember, but it felt strange to be surrounded by them. Thorin said nothing to her, simply assigned the watch, then lay down in his blankets.

Dwalin wished her goodnight, drew a knife, and began to sharpen it. His name had been the first called for the watch.

The darkness, when it fell, was overwhelming. Almost a palpable thing, it pressed down on her like a weight of stones. She pulled the blankets over her head, hoping it would help her pretend the blackness was of her own making, but it didn't work. Still, for the moment, it was better to breathe the thick air inside her makeshift tent than to look out into nothingness.

Time drew on and the soft snick of Dwalin's whetstone stilled. Snores rose up all around her-Dwarves, lost in the comfort of dreams-but whenever Bell closed her eyes, the river rose up again, its rush deafening in her ears.

She hardly noticed when Dwalin reached over her and shook Thorin awake for his watch. Exhaustion rode her like a shade, but she didn't dare to sleep. There, in the bleak darkness, she was alone with the river and the hole in her head, and before she knew what was happening, tears began to slide down her face. She shoved a fist into her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs, but they refused to be stoppered.

Thorin shifted beside her. _Stars_, she'd bothered him. What must he think of her? A useless girl, disturbing the peace with her crying.

"Bell," he said, much closer to her ear than she'd thought him to be, "try to sleep." His voice was heavy with the same tightly reined emotion he'd spoken with earlier. Deep and resonant, it rumbled through her ears and down her spine.

"I can't," she whispered past her fist. It was all she intended to say, but the next words slipped out unbidden. "The river."

"The river's far behind us."

She shook her head, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "It's in my head. In the space where I should remember." Putting the fear into words broke what little remained of her control. She curled into a ball, pressed her forehead hard into her knees, and bit down on her fingers. The stale air in her blanket tent was stifling. Her breath came in fitful gasps.

Thorin pulled the blankets away from her face. The fresher air filled her lungs, helping to ease the feeling that she was drowning, even in the waking world. His hand touched her hair, hesitated. The intimate contact startled her enough that it broke her from the whirlpool of panic threatening to drag her under. She froze.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to-" He pulled his hand away.

"No, please," she said. Without his tentative touch, she felt suddenly as if she were more alone than a woman surrounded by fourteen men had any right to feel. "That . . . helped."

After a moment, he let his hand rest back atop her head. His callused thumb slid over her forehead, gently, so gently, she would hardly have believed he could be so tender. Not when all she knew of him was pride and temper.

She let her eyes slip closed and focused on the repetitive motion of his thumb. The waters stayed low, not reaching above her ankles. The last of her tears evaporated away, leaving her exhausted and worn. Slowly she drifted, nearly on the edge of sleep. "Why're you being kind to me?" she mumbled.

Thorin sighed. "Just try to sleep. And remember, you're not alone."

Nothing made sense. A man who could hardly speak to her in the daylight turned chivalrous in the night?

Bell decided she was too tired to care. For now, the river was held in check. Best to take advantage of it while she could. She could try to figure out Thorin Oakenshield in the morning.

#

**Author's Note: Wow. I was worried posting that last chapter. I didn't know how it would go over. Judging from the comments, I shouldn't have worried quite so much. Yay!**

**Thorin is always a challenge to write, and how he deals with this complication is extra difficult. He's such a complex character, and I'm fighting to find the right balance with him. Anyways, it's good to torture the characters every now and then. If things are too easy, it's not a good story. =)**


	31. Chapter 31

Thorin woke to a sharp hunger pang. Although he had managed to sleep once Bell finally settled and after the end of his watch, he felt more exhausted than he had the night before. There was hardly enough light to see by, but their situation was growing more dire with each passing minute. There had to be an end to this cursed forest, and they needed to be out of it. Today.

He rolled out of his blankets. Kili, who was on the watch, looked over at him, a dreary cast to his face.

"Get them up," Thorin said.

Kili nodded and shook Fili. Between them, the brothers began waking the rest. Thorin found Bilbo and jostled him with his booted foot. "Time to go," he said. "Wake Bell."

In the utter blackness of the night, faced with her wracking sobs, Thorin had found he didn't have the strength to let her suffer alone. He hadn't meant to touch her, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when she'd asked him not to stop. The quicksilver surge of hope those simple words had brought nearly stole his breath.

Now, though, in the cold light of morning, his defenses slammed back down. Better to focus on what needed to be done to get them out of here. None of this would matter if they starved to death.

It didn't take long for all of them, save Bombur, to force themselves to their feet. The company stood in a weary circle waiting his command.

"We need to take stock of our supplies," Thorin said. "What bread do we have left? How much water?"

"I've got half a slice," Gloin said, pulling out what remained of his rations. None of the others had more, and some had less. Bifur's food was gone, along with Dori's and Dwalin's. Bell and Bilbo each still had half a slice remaining. Thorin didn't need to look in his pack to know he was down to a quarter of a slice, having given some of his waybread to Bell, without her knowledge. Between them all, there remained only the equivalent of three skins of water.

Thorin squeezed the bridge of his nose. This was maybe enough to last out the day. After that, hunger would drain them of their vigor, and thirst would begin to put their lives in peril. "No rests today," he said, trying not to let his fear seep into his voice. The Dwarves knew the risk as well as he did. Whether it was quite as clear to the hobbits, he did not know, but he wouldn't burden them with it if there were any chance they could remain ignorant.

He felt Bell's gaze on him, and risked a quick glance her way. Her wide blue eyes looked glazed beneath a furrowed brow and the pallor of her dreaming state had crept back into her skin. He wished he could offer her reassurance, but there was none to be given.

Thorin shouldered his pack. "Move out."

#

Bell trudged ahead in a haze. After the rations check, she'd decided against eating anything that morning, although there actually appeared to be more waybread in her pack than she remembered being there the day before. She had been more than a little bit distracted, she supposed. She must have missed some of it while she was digging through the bag, trying to take stock of what little she had to her name.

There was little conversation. The Dwarves all looked vaguely gray around the edges, and when Fili, Kili, Gloin, and Bofur had lifted up the still-drowsing Bombur, there was a sick moment when she thought they might drop him.

Bilbo walked by her side, not speaking. No sound broke the quiet of the forest save for the grunts of the men bearing Bombur and heavy Dwarven tread on the hard soil of the path. Bell listened hard to the forest. Surely something had to be moving in the underbrush. A squirrel. A bird. The silence was unnatural.

A high peal of laughter sounded in the distance, just on the edge of her hearing. At first she thought she was imagining it, a figment of an overactive imagination, but the sound came again. Bell paused, setting a hand on Bilbo's wrist to still him. "Do you hear that?"

Bilbo stopped mid-stride. "Hear what?"

"Listen."

The laughter sounded again, closer this time.

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Yes, I hear it." He looked back over his shoulder. "Everyone stop. Listen."

The Dwarves drew to a halt, and then the only other sound was the panting breath of Fili, Kili, Gloin, and Bofur. Once more the laughter rolled by.

Thorin took a step forward, his hand curving around the hilt of the blade that hung at his waist. It was not the weapon Bell remembered him carrying. That one had been sturdy and powerful, but what she could see of this sword's grip and scabbard was sleek and ornate. It looked almost Elvish.

Trying to remember where it had come from awakened the river. It rose slowly upward, turning her feet as cold as stone. Bell forced her mind to turn away from the thought.

Thorin peered into the thick trees in the direction from which the laughter came. "Elves." He kept his voice so low Bell could hardly hear him. "Keep quiet and keep moving."

"Mightn't they help us?" Bilbo whispered. "Give us some food at least?"

Thorin gave his head a sharp shake. "These are not Lord Elrond's folk. Any Elves in this forest belong to King Thranduil."

A few of the Dwarves worked up the energy to curse under their breaths at the mention of the Elf king's name.

"If his people were to find us," Thorin continued, "they would stop at nothing to keep us from reaching the Lonely Mountain. They fear the dragon that lurks there." He took in each member of the company with a sweeping turn of his head. "We keep to ourselves, while we still have strength."

A broad brown leaf, tipped with scarlet, drifted down between Bell and Thorin. Bell looked past it, to Thorin's stony face. "What if they do find us?"

He gave a minute shake of his head. "Pray they don't."

A surge of nervousness rose up the back of Bell's throat. She swallowed hard, forcing it back down. When the company moved out again, she took extra care to step quietly, and thought Bilbo did as well. If anyone were counting them by the sound of their footsteps, they'd find only twelve.

The laughter disappeared into the distance.

#

Some hours after noon, the trees surrounding them changed. No longer the thick, heavy, broad-leafed mix that had been their constant companions since entering Mirkwood, they gave way to stands of beech, rising high overhead. The underbrush thinned, letting in just a little more light.

That tiny blessing served to give Bell an unexpected surge of energy. It was sure to be fleeting, but in the meantime, she decided to take advantage of it by questioning Bilbo more closely. "Mister Baggins," she said, "I wish you'd tell me how we got here."

Bilbo's eyes flashed to Thorin, walking just ahead of them, so quickly Bell nearly missed the look before he gave a helpless shrug. "I'm not sure it's my place to say," he replied. "Besides, if it's gone, maybe it's best forgotten."

Bell felt frustration rise through her like sap through a tree. Anger wasn't a thing she often indulged in, but when she did, it was a slow boil. Nearly two days now of everyone avoiding her questions, trying to assure her that what was missing wasn't important . . . this was too much. And every one of them seemed to defer to Thorin on the subject. The glances his way. The subtle shifting of their stances, guarded and uncomfortable when she questioned them. It was clear she would get nothing from the rest. She'd have to drag the answers from their leader.

The thought didn't make her feel better. Thorin hadn't been as abrupt as the day before. No snapping. No harshness. Just an almost visible wall built up around him, keeping the rest at a distance. He was worried, that much Bell could clearly read, and his hand often slipped back to the hilt of the sword, fingers curling slowly around the tooled leather.

Bell found herself watching those fingers, remembering the way they had touched her the night before. How could hands so strong be so gentle? And what could have happened to make this man soften his hard edge enough to comfort a lost and frightened girl?

Bell resolved that when the opportunity presented itself, she would speak to him. She couldn't bear the not-knowing. She just wondered which Thorin she'd end up talking to, the exiled King under the Mountain, or the elusive man hidden somewhere beneath, who had soothed her into sleep.

#

The beech trees gave way to a sea of spreading oaks, and still there was no sign of the forest ending. The brief flash of energy that the increased light had given Bell had long since seeped away. It was hard to think of anything now, beyond hunger and thirst. A steady buzzing had taken up residence in her ears, and didn't show any sign of vanishing.

From time to time, she'd heard the distant laughter of Elves again, although none of the rest showed any sign of hearing it. She didn't mention the sounds, not after how Thorin had reacted to them earlier.

"We've got to be close to the far side by now," said Balin, breaking the quiet. He glanced up at the trees. "We've traveled so many days. If only we could _see_ what lay ahead."

Bell followed his gaze up into the canopy. "These trees are very tall. What if someone were to climb up? Do you think they might be able to get a glimpse of what surrounds us?"

Thorin raised a hand and the company paused. He looked back over his shoulder at her. "That's not a bad idea. It would have to be someone light, though, to reach the top branches."

A shiver ran through Bell at the thought of climbing so very high. Heights had never come easily to her, but she was the smallest of the company, and it had been her idea. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "If I must-"

Thorin's voice cut across hers. "It would be a good task for our burglar."

Bilbo hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets, glanced between Thorin and Bell, then up at the tree. Thorin raised one eyebrow at him. The hobbit blew out a resigned breath. "Fine," he said. "Dwalin, boost me up, please."

In moments, Mister Baggins was perched in the oak tree's lower branches and scrambling upward. Bell watched after until she could no longer make him out.

Soon, the rest were left behind, with nothing to do but wait. The Dwarves sat down in groups and passed around the waterskins, taking small sips. Thorin stood near the base of the tree, staring upward.

Bell curled her fingers in the fabric of her tunic. If ever there were a time to speak to Thorin, this was it.

She slipped off her pack and dug inside of it. When she'd gone through it in the morning, something caught her attention, and it seemed like a good way to begin this conversation. She gathered it in her hand and moved towards the oak tree's trunk. Her bare feet shaped to the contours of the ground, making no sound.

Bell stopped just behind Thorin's shoulder. "I found something in my pack," she said.

Thorin startled and turned. "Something?"

She held out a small, clear jar, filled with thick amber liquid. Thorin's eyes narrowed. She could see that he knew what it was. Where it came from.

"I don't remember this," she said, her hand clenching around the jar. "I don't remember any of this, and yet no one will tell me anything."

Thorin pressed his lips together. "None of us wants to upset you, Miss Goodchild."

Bell forced herself to breathe slowly. She would not be thwarted. Not this time. If only she could make him understand. Her heart thudded against her breastbone. "Nothing you could tell me will be worse than what I can imagine if left to my own devices. Please don't try to protect me. When Bombur wakes, you're planning to tell him, aren't you?"

Thorin looked up, as if he hoped that Bilbo would suddenly reappear, giving him a chance to escape her questions, but the hobbit was nowhere in sight. "Bombur is different."

"No," Bell said, her voice rising, "he's not." She lifted her chin and pulled back her shoulders. She wouldn't back down. Not even under Thorin's hard stare. "I lived those days. They're _my_ life. I have the right to know what happened in them. I'm stronger than you think, Thorin Oakenshield. I can face the truth, whatever it may be. What I can't face is the wondering. The not-knowing."

Suddenly, the river, which had ebbed down as low as the bottom of her feet, rose again, surging past her knees and up her thighs. Cold fear froze her innards. She tried not to let it show on her face, but Thorin's expression shifted sharply from wariness to worry and she knew she'd failed.

Fighting against the panic that threatened to sweep her under, Bell clenched her empty hand so hard her fingers dug deep furrows into her palms. The pain helped to steady her. She forced out a whisper. "Every time I try to remember, the waters start rising. Please," she begged, "give me something to hold onto, so I won't have to keep looking behind."

Thorin extended a hand towards her own, still clenched around the small jar. His fingers stopped an inch from hers, though his eyes never left her face. "That's honey," he said, "from a man named Beorn. A skin-changer. He was the last soul we encountered before entering Mirkwood."

Beorn. The name didn't kindle any further memories, but Bell shelved it in the library of her mind, to be read more closely later. The waters did not recede, but their rise slowed and ceased, just beneath her waist.

"What more is there?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me. Please."

#

Thorin's intention of keeping the tales of their travels from Bell crumbled when he saw the horror of what she called _the river_ take hold of her. She'd gone from a nervous, but brave, young woman defending her right to hear the story of her own life to a frozen, frightened girl faster than the stroke of an axe. This was what haunted her in the night, and stalked her in the daylight. If the truth, at least in part, would help to shield her, then she would have it.

He wove the tale carefully-from their escape from the trolls, and her own part in it, through the attack on the way to Rivendell, to the revelations of the moon runes, the stone giants, the goblins, even as far as the Defiler-in as few words as he could manage. Deftly avoiding any mention of what had transpired between the two of them, Thorin stuck to the bare facts, as if he were dictating a history scroll.

Not once did she interrupt. Her lips moved silently from time to time, repeating names of places or people. The haunted look behind her eyes slowly ebbed.

"When Bombur fell into the river, you ran in after him," Thorin said at last. "He owes you his life, and we owe you our gratitude."

Bell's strength seemed to vanish and she sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged. "So much," she said at last. "So much to forget."

Thorin dropped down on his heels. The motion, which should have been easy, sent waves of dizziness through him. The lack of food and water had weakened him badly. "Now that you know what's in those lost days, try not to look back and fill in the holes. You saw things you never should have seen."

She stared down at her hands. "You may be right. And thank you," she said, looking over at him through lowered lashes. "Thank you for telling me. I know you didn't want to."

From overhead came a rustle of leaves. Thorin looked up and spotted Bilbo clambering back down the oak tree.

When the hobbit reached the bottom branch, Thorin stood and helped him down. The rest of the company gathered around. As soon as Bilbo's feet hit the ground, Ori asked, "Well? What did you see?"

Thorin didn't need to hear the answer. It was easy enough to read on the hobbit's face.

"There's nothing but trees as far as I could see," Bilbo said.

"But did you make it to the top?" asked Gloin. "All the way?"

"Yes, all the way," Bilbo replied, a bit of pique slipping into his voice. "All the way into the full sunshine. And there were butterflies. So many butterflies."

"You saw the sun?" Bell whispered. "You really saw it?"

"And breathed fresh air."

Dori sniffed. "Well I, for one, don't want to hear about it. What good does sunshine do us? We're none of us small enough to climb up to it, and you say there's no end to this forsaken forest. We've next to no food." He raised his hands. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Thorin picked up Bell's pack and held it out to her. She staggered to her feet and let him help her put it on. "We keep walking," he said. "There's no other choice."

#

**Author's Note: A bit of a slow chapter this time, but it needed to happen. More excitement in the next, don't worry!**


	32. Chapter 32

Bell watched while Thorin, Dwalin, Dori, and Fili struggled to lift Bombur. Four of the strongest Dwarves, and they could barely manage it. The company had eaten the last of the waybread. There was nothing else left, save for her small jar of honey.

Thorin had told her that Beorn gave it to her to bring back to her father, but it was clear now that there would be no returning if they didn't escape from Mirkwood. She pulled out the jar and lengthened her stride to catch up with the bearers.

"Wait," she said, unsealing the wax and pulling the cork stopper free. A strong, sweet scent rose up, making her stomach clench with longing. She offered the jar to Dwalin, who was closest. "Take some of this, and share it with the rest. Keep up your strength."

Thorin glanced over from Bombur's far side. He gave her a grateful nod, then turned his attention back to his footing.

Dwalin tipped the jar back and swallowed a mouthful. "It's good. Thanks." He gave it back to her and Bell brought it round to Dori, Fili, and lastly, Thorin.

It didn't seem like such a little thing would be much help, but the four men straightened with renewed vigor and moved a bit faster.

By the time the darkness began to fall, Bell could hardly keep her feet. The empty feeling in her stomach faded into a numbing haze. It should have been a relief, but the fear that she was beginning to lose a bit of her reason to starvation made the haze almost worse than the hunger.

"Did we ever finish cleaning the plates?"

Bofur, who had been walking beside Bell, whipped around, "Bombur?" He ran back down the trail. "Bombur!"

The men carrying Bombur set him down. The rotund Dwarf wasn't able to keep his feet. He sat down in the middle of the trail and blinked at the company, a look of confusion on his face that was far too familiar for Bell's comfort. "This isn't Mister Baggins' house?"

"No, brother, it isn't," Bofur said. "You fell into a cursed river many days ago, and you've been asleep since. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was feasting," he said, his eyes going distant. "With an Elven king, and his court. There was roast meat, and cakes, and honey mead, and . . . why am I so hungry?"

"You dreamed that feast," said Balin. "We've got nothing, and you've not eaten since you fell into the river."

"No food?"

"No food."

"But Mister Baggins' larder was full. We'd just eaten such a fine meal-"

"Bombur," Thorin broke in. "Not another word about feasts or food. Can you walk?"

"I . . . Well, I can try."

Bofur and Bifur offered him their hands and helped him to rise. Bombur swayed, but remained upright. "Are you sure there's not even a nibble?"

"Not here. We've been trapped in Mirkwood, and if we don't get out of it, we'll all starve. So put what strength you have into walking," Thorin said. "We've carried you far long enough."

Nori glanced overhead. "The light'll be gone soon."

"Then we make what progress we can. Now. Move out."

Bombur grumbled, but followed along among the rest. He moved slowly, but even so they made faster progress than when they'd had to carry him.

Bell made her way to Bombur's side. "Is Mister Bilbo's party the last thing you remember?"

"Beyond the Elven king's feast, yes," Bombur replied. His eyes narrowed. "Who're you?"

It startled her to realize that Bombur didn't even remember that she existed. "I'm Bell Goodchild. Bilbo's housekeeper." She shook her head sadly. "You've lost even more time than I did. I'm sorry."

The red-haired Dwarf glanced over at her. "Did you fall in the river, too?"

"I . . . Yes. I did."

Dwalin grunted from behind her. Bell ignored him. Bombur didn't need to know that she'd gone in to save him. Not yet. It could wait until they'd managed to escape Mirkwood, and if they didn't, well, it wouldn't matter anyways.

There was still a tiny bit of honey clinging to the sides of Bell's jar. She pulled it out and offered it to Bombur. "This isn't much," she said, "but it might help."

Bombur took the honey jar and set after it with a vengeance, jamming his tongue against the sides, lapping up the sticky remains. Bell looked away. She understood his impulse. Now the last of their food was well and truly gone.

They walked on as the darkness fell, until there was nothing left to see. "What do we do now?" asked Nori.

"I think we should keep moving," said Dori. "We can't risk being here any longer."

"But Beorn said that if we lost the trail, we'd never find it again," came Bilbo's voice from beside Bell. "How can we follow it, if we can't see it?"

"I know which way is east," said Gloin. "Even in the dark. My mother always said I had a lodestone for a mind. I can always feel north."

"But the path doesn't just travel east," Bell replied. "There have been jogs and turns. We don't know what dangers there are beyond it."

Bombur gave a wail and sat down with a thud. "I'm not taking another step! I'm hungry, and if sleeping is the only way I can have food, I'm happy to dream myself back to the Elven king's table."

Following Bombur's proclamation, there was silence for a moment, then Ori's quiet voice. "It's strange, this starving. Like I'm turning to air in the middle and I've got cotton fluff for a brain." He paused for a moment. "Are we going to die?"

"No one is dying," Thorin said, his voice hard. "We've got perhaps another day left before the thirst begins to take us. A day will be enough."

"So do we keep going?" asked Balin.

"We-"

"What's that?" came Dori's voice. "Out in the forest. A light!"

Bell peered into the trees. Sure enough, there was a light. A small fire. And when she listened hard, she could just make out quiet laughter. "It's Elves," she said.

"Elves?" said Bombur. "They'll have food."

"No," said Thorin. "We keep moving east. We must be near the far side."

"A day, you said." Balin's voice was low, carefully moderated. "One day, and if you're wrong, we'll start to die of thirst."

"Those are Thranduil's kin." Bell could hear the frustration behind Thorin's words.

"Thorin," Bell said, grateful that the darkness would spare her from seeing his expression when she spoke her next words, "I remember what you said yesterday. _We keep to ourselves, while we still have strength_. Well, we don't have strength. Not even you."

"Roast meat," Bombur crooned.

"My brother hasn't eaten in four days and we've barely been able to get any water into him," said Bofur. "Maybe the rest of us will last out a day, but think of him. If those Elves have food, I'm going to get it. Come on, Bombur. Let's go."

Suddenly, all around Bell the Dwarves were moving. They rushed past, some buffeting against her in the darkness. She staggered and swung her arms to regain her balance. Her hand hit on someone's arm. Bell gave a startled cry and grabbed hold. She wouldn't be left alone in the darkness.

"I've got you," came Thorin's voice from beside her. He moved her hand from his arm to his belt. "Don't let go. If you get lost in this place, I may never find you again."

"I won't let go."

He led off after the others at a trot. It was impossible to miss the sound of their headlong rush towards the distant fire. Unseen branches snapped and whipped back when Thorin forced his way through. He cursed under his breath. Bell kept close to his back, using him as a shield. Although her bare feet were as tough as any hobbit's, she bit back pained yelps when sharp rocks or broken branches bit into her soles without warning.

They drew closer to the fire. The silhouettes of running Dwarves slipped between themselves and the flames. The others would reach the clearing soon.

"Faster," Thorin warned, then lengthened his stride.

Bell's grip tightened on his belt and she forced herself to keep pace. She could hear voices now, melodious, bell-like voices. She peered out from behind Thorin.

The fleetest Dwarves-Bofur, Kili, and Fili-burst into the clearing. In an instant, the fire vanished, dropping the forest into a darkness that felt more bleak for having been illuminated just moments before.

Dwarven voices rose ahead of them, shouting each other's names. Thorin stopped dead and Bell ran smack into his back, catching herself when she bounced off by her handhold on his belt. "Sorry!" she gasped.

"Just don't let go," he said, then shouted, "Fili! Kili! Where are you?"

The forest was a confusing swarm of shouting Dwarves, with Bilbo's voice mixed in for good measure. Bell clung to Thorin's belt like a burr, only answering if anyone called out her name.

Soon enough, they were all gathered, clinging to each other in the blackness. "What now?" asked Oin.

"We've lost the trail for good, I expect," Thorin replied. "Gloin, you said you know which way is east. Where do we turn?"

Silence was the only answer, then a gruff throat-clearing. "I'm afraid when we were running, I may have gotten a bit turned about. I think east is to my back, but . . ."

"But what?" Thorin's voice was deadly calm.

"I can't swear to it."

Bell closed her eyes and bent her head, listening to the rush of her pulse.

"Did anyone else smell the meat?" asked Bombur in a plaintive, quiet voice.

Thorin ignored the question. "Does anyone else think they know which way is east?"

"Straight ahead of me," said Nori, who was standing to Bell's left, facing towards her.

"I'm looking at it," added Fili, on the opposite side, also pointing toward her.

"You're looking at each other," she groaned. "Are we truly lost then?"

"We never should have left the trail," said Bilbo.

"No, look!" said Dwalin. "Another light. Brighter this time."

"Let's go, then!" said Bombur.

"Wait," Thorin said, before the Dwarves could take off again into the forest. "If we go, we do it differently this time. We'll send Mister Baggins in first. He couldn't be seen as threatening. Let him plead our case before you go racing in like a pack of howling dogs."

There were murmurs of agreement all around and they set off again, more cautiously this time. Bell supposed the Dwarves were trying not to make any noise, but she couldn't help but think the Elves could hear them coming long before they reached the edge of the ring of firelight.

This time, she could see the Elves. Tall, with long, pale hair that shone like starlight in the fire's glow. They drank from flagons of ornately carved wood, and ate fruit from bowls made of mushroom caps. Bell's mouth watered.

Fili clapped Bilbo on the back. "Go on," he hissed, and shoved Mister Baggins out into the light.

Again, the fires died in an instant. Bell choked back a sob. So close. Food and drink were so close, but it seemed the Elves would torment them with it until the company expired.

It took longer this time to regroup. No one could find Bilbo, despite calling his name time and again, until he rose from the ground with a groan. "I was dreaming, I think," he said. "There was an Elf king, and feasting."

"Not him, too," Kili moaned. "The next person who says 'feast' to me is going to become one."

"Kili," Thorin snapped, "that's enough."

Bell wrapped her free arm around her empty belly. The arguing of the Dwarves only made her feel sicker. It would be easier to just lie down and close her eyes and wait for the weakness that was already spreading through her to take everything away. Only her promise not to let go of Thorin's belt kept her from sinking to the ground and curling into a ball.

"We don't speak of our companions in such a manner," Thorin went on. "We're a company. We live together or we die together."

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Kili said in a contrite tone. "It's just that I can hardly think straight."

"None of us can," Thorin said, his voice softening, "but we're in this together, Kili. All of us."

Stirred to a bit of courage by Thorin's words, Bell raised her head. A new fire blazed into life just ahead of her, not far distant.

"Thorin?" she whispered. "There's another one."

He shifted, turning towards the light. "One more time," he said, "but this time, I'm going in myself."

The company crept towards the firelight. Bell's fingers were stiff from clinging so tightly to Thorin's belt for so long, but she had no desire to let go. His presence was all that was keeping her from falling to pieces.

There were many more voices this time, and music played on a harp. It soon became clear that it was not just one fire blazing, but two. A long table had been laid between them. At its center, in a high-backed chair carved with vines, sat an Elf lord. In the dancing light of the flames, his face appeared ageless-smooth and proud.

Thorin hissed in a breath. He drew to a stop, tugging on the arms of his neighbors. The message to halt sped down the line of Dwarves.

"What is it?" Bell breathed, hardly daring to make a sound.

"Thranduil."

A spitted deer hung over one of the fires. The spatter of grease dripping into the flames was clear, even over the music and conversation. The scent wrapped around Bell, beckoning her towards it, as if she were no more than a dog lusting after a scrap of bone. The thought repulsed her-she was stronger than an animal-but it was all she could do not to draw closer.

A pitiful whine rose up from Bombur, two men down the line from Bell.

"It's food, Thorin," Bofur whispered. "_Please_."

Bell felt shudders course through the Dwarf prince's body, as if he were fighting a battle within himself. Without thinking, she laid her free hand on the side of his back. He froze, then straightened. "Yes," he whispered. "It is."

Thorin unsheathed his sword with his right hand, then reached behind him with the left and touched Bell's fingers, drawing her forward with him.

She swallowed down a rush of fear and slipped forward in his wake. The firelight brightened. They reached the edge of its circle of illumination.

Thorin squeezed her hand and stepped out into the light. "Hail, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood," he said.

All eyes turned to them, hard and sharp. Bell stepped as close to Thorin's back as she could, as if she could become his shadow, only just peering out from behind him. Silence settled over the forest. Thranduil rose from his graceful throne and tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow rising.

Bell held her breath.

With a sharp motion, the Elf king raised one fist over his head. The fires extinguished. Dizziness slammed into Bell like a fist. She wobbled and stumbled into Thorin's back. There was hardly time to feel him falling before she landed atop him, then knew nothing more.

#

**Author's Note: Elves!**


	33. Chapter 33

Thorin came awake with a start, lying on the ground with his wrists bound in front of him. Darkness still reigned, although it was not so dark as it had been when last his eyes had been open. He squinted at a dimly illuminated bundle beside him, the right size to be Bell.

The bundle moved and groaned, a quiet, tired sound. Definitely Bell.

Thorin rolled to his knees and rose unsteadily to his feet. The hunger pangs that twisted his gut in knots were sharper than he remembered and he struggled to focus. How long had he been unconscious? Where were they? Where were the others? He twisted his wrists against the restraints. The ropes were thin, but didn't give so much as an inch, digging hard into his skin.

"I suggest you don't struggle," came a smooth, honeyed voice from somewhere in front of him. "Elven rope is strong enough to keep a Dwarf in check."

Thorin stepped instinctively between the voice and Bell's prone form. "Show yourself." His voice came out dry and cracked.

A row of candles kindled into life, revealing a large open cavern with earthen walls, strengthened by a lattice of roots. A heavy, moist smell of loam filled the air. The Elf king sat on a carved throne atop a raised dais. Behind him and to his left stood another Elf, as pale and fair as Thranduil, but with a sharper glint in his eyes. As if he were watching every detail and storing it for later.

Long tables edged the room, topped with green silk runners. Candelabras stood at even intervals along the centers. Places were laid with platters of food, the meat still steaming, although the benches were empty. The sweet tang of honey mead rose from clay pitchers decorated with vines.

Thorin tore his eyes from the tables and brought his focus back to the Elf king, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his tight muscles. "Why am I bound?"

Thranduil's face remained impassive. "You accost me at my feasting table, bearing a weapon that is the legacy of my people, and you think to ask me why you are bound?"

Thorin's eyes flashed to his waist. Orcrist was gone, scabbard and all. "That sword was mine, by right of arms. Lord Elrond himself told me its name and returned it into my hands."

"I am not Lord Elrond."

"Clearly. Lord Elrond would not tie up a starving man and torment him with food."

Hunger blurred the sharp edges of Thorin's mind. If there was ever a time he needed all his wits about him, this was it, but he was forced to play at words with this cursed Elf king without the full power of his mind. He scanned the room for any sign of the rest of the company, but found nothing.

Thranduil rose to his feet with the graceful strength of a panther. He stepped down from the dais and stalked forward to loom over Thorin. "You know well enough who I am, since you called me by name. What were you doing in my realm?"

Thorin raised his chin. "Starving."

"Your people attacked mine. Came at us like baying wolves from the dark."

"We attacked no one," Thorin said, trying again to work his arms against the ropes. The only reward for his efforts was sharp pain. "We came to beg for your aid, because we were starving."

"Where are you men?"

"I expect they're still in the forest," Thorin replied through gritted teeth, "_starving_."

Thranduil brought his face close, lips near to Thorin's ear, and whispered, "If you think I do not remember you, you are sorely mistaken. The memories of the Elves are long. I will not have so soon forgotten the young prince of Erebor. Do not think I cannot guess your intent in passing through my realm, Thorin Oakenshield."

The empty feeling in Thorin's gut bottomed out into nothingness. He glared back at Thranduil, lips tightly sealed. He wouldn't be goaded into speaking the truth. Let the Elf king suppose what he wished. No confirmation would pass Thorin's lips.

"Thorin?"

Bell's voice was a thin quaver. Thorin turned purposefully away from Thranduil and knelt beside her. "I'm here," he said, taking in her bound hands with a glance. He glared up at the Elf king. "What kind of man are you, to bind a defenseless woman? She carried no weapon into your realm. She's no threat."

"She travels with a man who would risk igniting the wrath of a dragon in a misguided attempt to regain his lost riches."

"If you've harmed her-"

"It's all right," Bell said, lifting herself up onto one elbow. Her arm trembled. "They haven't hurt me."

"Strange company you keep," said Thranduil, running a thoughtful finger along the line of his jaw. "It is many long years since I have seen a Halfling. Stealthy creatures. Good for poking about without being seen or heard. I wonder what you might have had planned for her? A share of the treasure for her help as a scout and spy?"

Thranduil was too close to the mark, if Bell had been Bilbo. "Questioning her will do you no good," Thorin said, catching Bell's gaze and holding it. "She fell into the enchanted river that runs through your lands. She has no memory of what came before." Except for what he had filled in for her. Enough to confirm Thranduil's suspicions. He gave her a subtle shake of his head, praying she would understand.

"Is this true?" asked Thranduil, looking back at Bell.

Her shoulders sagged and she swayed closer to Thorin. Unnatural heat radiated from her, warming the back of his hands, even through her clothes. Thorin's eyes narrowed. Bell gave the Elf king a weary nod. "It's true."

The other Elf moved to Thranduil's side, his head tilted, expression intent. "Father, these people are starved and dehydrated. Look at their lips. Cracked and brittle as dry leaves. Let me give them some water."

Thranduil pulled his gaze from Bell and Thorin, and stared at the other Elf. Thorin studied the strange Elf's features. They bore a strong resemblance to Thranduil. The same narrow, pointed nose. The same high cheekbones. Yes, he could see the familial resemblance, but how far did that similarity run? Why would the son offer them water, when the father withheld it?

Thranduil did not respond. Instead, he took a step back, straightened to his full height, and turned the full weight of his inhuman gaze on Thorin. "I give you one chance, Dwarf. Will you forsake your claim on the kingdom of Erebor and return to the west?"

Thorin's pride surged through him. "Would you ask your son to forsake his claim on the throne of Mirkwood after your passing?"

The Elf king shook his head. "You leave me no choice. Legolas, take them to the dungeons."

Legolas bowed his head. "By your command."

Thorin stood. His fingers ached for a weapon. Helplessness sat on him like a battered visor that he couldn't lift to see. "What of my men? Will you leave them to die?"

"It would be no more than men who would risk the wrath of a dragon deserve."

Legolas hooked his hands under Bell's shoulders and lifted her to her feet. Her eyes squeezed shut and her face blanched a stark white. Perspiration beaded on her skin. Thorin's chest went cold. This was more than weariness. More than fear. "Thranduil," he said, "imprison me if you must, but not the girl. She's not strong enough."

Thranduil turned away and strode from the room, leaving them alone with the Elf prince. Legolas pulled a rope from his belt and tied it to the ropes pinning Thorin's hands, but he did not meet the Dwarf prince's eyes. "Come with me."

Bell slipped into step beside Thorin. She moved like a wraith, her eyes glassy, breathing in shallow pants. Her tongue ran over her cracked lips.

"Bell?" Thorin whispered.

Her gaze flickered towards him, then away, as if she didn't have the strength to do more than place one foot in front of the other.

Legolas led them through a labyrinth of corridors, as twisted as roots. Thranduil's home might be underground, but this was as far from any Dwarf hall as Thorin could imagine. No bare stone, only hard-packed earth. No clean, angular lines. The wrongness of it was a subtle thing, but impossible to ignore, like someone petting the hairs on the back of his arms the wrong direction.

Thorin tried to keep track of the turnings and branching halls, but soon lost track. He wasn't sure whether he would have been able to do it even if he weren't fighting the effects of so many days of little to no rations.

Down and down they went. Bell staggered time and again, her eyes rolling towards the back of her head, only just coming back to herself before she could fall. Thorin slowed enough to place himself behind her, at the very end of the length of his lead rope.

"Legolas," Thorin said, worry making his throat tight, "you must give her water, or she's not going to reach your dungeon."

The Elf stopped and looked back in the same moment that Bell finally crumpled. Thorin tried to cushion her fall, but without the free use of his hands, all he could do was slow it. She landed sprawled across the hard earthen floor.

Legolas knelt beside her, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. "How long has she been without water?"

"Most of a day, and very little in the days before that." Thorin's fingers clenched. "_Please_. Help her."

"She's very hot. A fever." The Elf picked up Bell as if she weighed nothing. Her head hung backward over his arm, curls bobbing with the motion. "Follow."

Thorin obeyed, hardly noticing that Legolas had not picked up his lead rope again. Before long, they reached a heavy oaken door. Legolas set Bell on the ground and pulled the door wide. "Inside," the Elf said.

The room behind the door was the first Thorin had seen within Thranduil's hall that was made of stone. A roll of blankets sat in the corner, and a pail with clean water, along with a loaf of grain bread. A proper cell. One he would not be able to dig his way free of. He hesitated at the threshold.

"The longer you wait, the weaker she grows," Legolas said.

Thorin straightened and stepped inside.

"You will remain here until such time as you renounce your claim upon Erebor, by my father's command." Legolas shut the door and Thorin heard a bolt slide into place. Almost immediately, a small slot opened in the large door. "Place your hands through," the Elf said.

Again, Thorin obeyed and felt cold steel slide between the skin of his wrists. There was a tug and a snap, and then his hands were free.

A low groan sounded outside the door.

Thorin peered through the slot. "Legolas, you have to help her. If you lock her away now, you'll kill her."

He had no illusions that Thranduil would show any mercy to someone linked with himself, but the son . . . Something in his actions, in the way he watched-Thorin clung to the hope that the son might prove more reasonable.

Legolas looked back at him through the slot. He pressed his face close, his voice a low whisper. "I cannot go against my father's commands. She will be imprisoned."

Thorin pounded the door with the flat of his palm, his teeth bared.

"Hear me out, Dwarf," Legolas hissed. "She will be imprisoned, but I will see to it that she is tended to. There is a healer who will do this as a favor to me, without reporting it back to my father. And she will not be far away. Look at the back of your cell."

Thorin glanced towards the far wall. Near the ceiling was an open space, far too narrow for a person to squeeze through. A vent, most likely.

"She'll be on the far side. You'll be able to speak to her, but use caution. If there are guards about, you must keep silent."

Relief rushed through Thorin like water past a broken dam. He leaned against the door, the adrenaline that had been keeping him going washing away, leaving him weary and trembling. "Thank you," he said.

"Eat. Drink. Keep up your strength."

"I will."

Legolas backed away from the slot and picked up Bell. He looked back towards the door. "For what it's worth, my father's men are already tracking the spiders your company roused. If they've managed to live through the night, we should have them in our custody soon."

Thorin's fingers curled on the edge of the slot. "Why are you helping me?"

The Elf prince's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. "I don't know. Perhaps it galls me to see the hospitality of this hall so thoroughly broken. But do not expect me to help you to escape. There are limits to what I will risk, and a dragon is not among them."

Without another word, Legolas strode away. Thorin watched through the slot until the Elf prince was out of sight. A few minutes later, sounds emanated from the vent on the far wall. The creak of a door. A hollow moan. Legolas' voice-_drink this, it will help_.

There was nothing more Thorin could do. He made his way to the pail of water and scooped up a handful, thinking to sip it slowly, but the moment the cool liquid hit his tongue, all intentions of frugality fled. He held the pail to his lips and gulped down long mouthfuls like a drowning man gasping for his first breath of air.

#

**Author's Note: Wow, this story is now over 500 reviews. You all are awesome! Your feedback helps to keep me going, and the messages in my mailbox brighten my day. Thank you so very much. I really appreciate it!**


	34. Chapter 34

Bell shivered so hard her teeth chattered, but her skin felt like it was on fire. Someone smoothed a cool, damp cloth over her forehead and tried to spoon something pungent and herbal into her mouth. She wrenched her face away. She wasn't sure why, but a part of her felt certain she was in a hostile place.

"You need to swallow this," said a male voice she didn't recognize. "It's for your fever. It must come down or your life is in danger." The tone was calm, comforting. Almost paternal. Her head turned back towards the speaker. "Good. I'm trying to help you. I promise, this will do you no harm."

The spoon pressed between her lips and she forced herself to swallow. The liquid tingled against her tongue, a strange, effervescent sensation. She fought the urge to cough when it slipped down her throat. Warmth spread through her chest, easing the worst of the shivers.

"Rest now. I'll return later."

#

When Bell woke again, she still felt hot, but perspiration clung to her skin, dampening her clothes. She groaned and managed to roll up onto one elbow. Opening her eyes, she found herself in a small stone cell. What little light there was came through a narrow opening in the door. It guttered as if it came from a tallow candle.

This must be the Elf king's dungeon. She remembered the confrontation between Thorin and Thranduil, but nothing more before everything else receded into fevered delirium. Where was Thorin? What had they done with him?

A pail of water stood nearby. Bell thought she remembered someone encouraging her to drink earlier, before the strange man and tonic, but she still felt parched and weak. She tried to rise, but a wave of dizziness changed her mind. Instead, she crawled to the bucket and sipped from a cupped hand. Too weary to do more, she slumped back to the ground, her head pillowed on her arm, and drifted towards unconsciousness.

#

The creak of the door startled Bell out of a half-awake state somewhere between dream and nightmare. Her eyes opened, giving her a sideways view of the cell. An Elf stepped inside, wearing a mottled brown tunic over leggings of the same shade. They reminded her a bit of the fabric her own clothes were made of. Made to blend into the surroundings.

He closed the door behind him and turned his gaze to her. "You've moved I see. Feeling a little better?"

It was the voice she remembered from before. Bell licked her lips. "Who are you?"

"My name is Naldor. I am a healer, among other things." He moved closer, extending a hand towards her forehead. "May I?" he asked.

Bell nodded warily.

The Elf's fingers were cool. He held them in place for a moment, then pulled back his hand. "Good. The fever is broken. Do you feel any stronger?"

"No."

She hadn't managed to work up the energy to do as much as sit up. It seemed pointless. Locked in a cell in a place she'd hardly even heard of back in the Shire. Memories lost. Worst of all, utterly alone. Once or twice, she thought she'd heard Thorin's voice through the haze of her delirium, but the falsehoods of a fevered mind were worse than silence.

Naldor poured a bit of liquid from a vial hung around his waist into a small wooden cup and offered it to her. "Drink this. It's more of the restorative. It will help."

Bell shook her head. "Thank you, but no."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It's easier to be numb."

"I do not understand."

Bell sighed. "I'm alone here. A hobbit who's left her world behind, and I'm never likely to see it again. I had companions, but they're gone now. Most of them may well be dead. And even then, I hardly remember enough of them to truly cling to what memory I have. What is there for me?"

"It's true then, when the Dwarf said the Thranduil? You did go into the river of forgetting?"

"Yes."

Naldor settled himself down over his heels. "What did you dream?"

"Why does it matter?"

The Elf swirled the liquid in the cup thoughtfully. "I said I was a healer, among other things. I am also a botanist and herbalist. My wife and I have been studying the effects of the river, to try to find a way to counteract them."

For the first time since she'd found herself in the cell, Bell felt a pulse of life spark through her. "Have you learned anything?"

"Not a great deal. There is an Elf lady who lives in the forest of Lothlorien. Galadriel. She has a magical mirror, in which the waters reveal visions. They show some things that have been, some that are, and some that have not yet come to pass. It seems the river works in much the same way, and I've encountered a few souls who've managed to find their memories again."

A surge of hope coursed through Bell's vein's like lightning. She lifted her head off her arm. "It's possible I could regain my memory?"

"I don't wish to give you false hope. The few who did remember were those who saw something of the future, then lived through that same moment."

Bell deflated. Her head sank back down again and her eyes focused into the distance. "Then it's hopeless. I dreamed of drowning, like I did when I was a child. My vision was of the past."

Naldor bowed his head. "I am sorry to hear it, but don't lose heart. My wife and I will not cease in our studies. Enough of our own people have been affected by this curse. There is still a chance."

"I wish you well, but hold no hope for myself. I'll die in this cell, I fear. Alone and forgotten."

"You are not alone, nor are you forgotten." Naldor looked towards the back wall. "Dwarf," he said, "there are no guards about. It is safe to speak."

There was a pause, then a familiar deep voice filtered into the room. "You're not alone, Bell."

"Thorin?" she whispered. "You're here?"

"I'm here. Just on the other side of the wall."

An incoherent sound somewhere between a sob and laugh escaped past the lump that had unexpectedly lodged in Bell's throat. She pressed a hand to her lips. He was here. She wasn't alone.

"You need to do what Naldor asks of you," Thorin went on. "Let him help you."

Bell pulled her hand away from her mouth and wiped her sleeve over her eyes, damp with tears. "I will," she said, barely able to speak for relief.

"There are sometimes guards," he said. "When they're here, we cannot speak, but remember, I'm still with you, whether you can hear me or not."

"I understand."

Naldor's lips twitched towards a smile. He helped Bell to a sitting position and handed her the cup. "Drink this."

She obeyed and felt the familiar effervescent tingle sweep down her throat, warming her from the inside outward. "Thank you," she said.

The Elf took the cup back and turned for the door. He looked back over his shoulder. "I have to go now, or I'll be missed. You should drink more of the water, and eat, too. Build up your strength."

Bell nodded. "Yes."

"Good. I'll check in on you again when I can."

Naldor slipped through the door and bolted it behind him, but the clang felt less final now. The room, less empty.

Bell scooted herself across the floor until her back rested against the rear wall. "Thorin? Are you all right?"

"Better now that I hear your voice."

"They haven't hurt you?"

"No."

She closed her eyes and let out a relieved breath. "I'm very glad." The rush of the tonic ebbed away, leaving a hollow weariness behind, as if the marrow had been leached from her bones. "And so tired."

"Sleep. Recover." His voice wrapped around her like a woolen blanket, furry and warm.

"You're sure?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

#

Days passed. Long days filled with worry and snippets of conversation stolen when the dungeon guards left their posts. The guards seemed to be more of an ornament than a necessity. Thorin had gone through his cell in search of any flaw, but found none. If a Dwarf could find no weakness in stone, there could be no real need for guards in the hall. Still, more often than not, they were there.

Naldor came twice more, finally pronouncing Bell healed. Of Legolas, there was no sign, and of the rest of the company, no word.

Thorin picked up a nut-loaf and held it with both hands. There should have been word by now, of the company's life or death. It had been too long. Surely the Elf prince would have found a way to let him know if they'd been captured. He's taken the initiative to tell him his companions were being tracked. Why wouldn't he follow through, unless they were dead?

With a sharp motion, Thorin twisted the loaf into two pieces and threw one at the door. It hit with a thud and fell to the floor. For a moment there was no sound, then a sharp tapping on the far side of the wall. Three short raps, then two longer ones. Bell's signal that there were no guards visible on her side.

Thorin forced his frustration down long enough to stalk to the far side and check outside his own door. Nothing. "It's clear," he growled.

"What's wrong?"

He picked up the torn loaf half and dusted it off. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me, Thorin. Please."

Thorin turned away from the door and began to pace. Round and round his cell he'd walked, so many times now that he half-expected to find a worn trail in the stone. It didn't help, though. No matter how many times he circled the room, the same caged energy sang through him, and it couldn't keep away the worry for his kin.

He didn't mean to answer Bell. To burden her with his worries didn't seem fair. She had enough to contend with. He'd heard every time she cried in the night. How she sometimes called out for her father in her sleep.

Yet somehow the words slipped out. "They may be dead, Bell," he said, "and it's my fault."

"Thorin, no-"

"_Yes_. If I hadn't forced the issue, if I hadn't stirred them to it, they'd never have come on their own. It was my arrogance, my pride, that drove this."

"You're wrong," she said. "The company chose to follow you, because they believed in you and in the line of Durin."

Thorin paused beneath the vent. "I was not the only heir of Durin. My nephews. Fili. Kili. Durin's blood also ran in their veins." He leaned his head against the wall. "I watched them grow from toddling boys to men newly testing their own strength. Fili would have made a fine leader. He always had more sense in him. And Kili, so full of energy he could hardly contain it . . . what a support he would have been. There could have been no more loyal brother."

"Stop talking like they're already dead. You don't know that. You can't assume it."

"What else can I do?" His hands clenched so hard the nails dug half-moon gouges into his palms. "If they're dead, I killed them."

"I won't give up on them," Bell said, her voice trembling. He could almost see her lifting her chin, the way she always did when she was trying to be brave. "And I won't let you either."

Thorin sank down beneath the vent and pressed his back against the wall, trying to imagine her there on the far side. The warmth of her small body leaning back against him. His pulse rushed in his ears, guilt and anger chilling him through.

"What can I do?" she whispered, barely audible.

Thorin wedged his elbows against his knees and laid his head in his hands. "Distract me. Tell me a tale of the Shire. Something peaceful. Happy."

"All right. Every autumn, we have a festival in Hobbiton. There are prizes for cooking, for smoke-ring blowing, the largest pumpkin, and there are races. All kinds of races. The boys always ran off, so to speak, with the ribbons for sprinting, for distance, and the three-legged race, but one year, I set my sights on winning a blue ribbon. I can run well enough, but I'm certainly not the fastest. I needed a particular kind of race, if I had a chance of winning."

"How old were you?"

"I was eleven."

Thorin forced himself to try to visualize the young girl Bell might have been. All hair and eyes and spindly limbs, he supposed, with roses blooming on her cheeks. Despite his dark mood, one corner of his lips pulled back at the image.

"My father learned they were adding a new race that year. One I thought I had a fair chance in. A race where you had to balance an egg on a spoon. If the egg fell, you lost. Well, you know that I know my way around a kitchen. I knew eggs, and I knew spoons, even at that age. I practiced in the evenings, when my father wasn't watching. At first, I had to cover for the eggs I broke, but soon enough I mastered the art of it."

"A willful one even then, were you?"

"I prefer to think of it as driven. Anyways, the day of the festival came and when they called for entrants for the egg race, I joined the boys at the starting line. A few of them complained, but when one of them pointed out that being afraid of a girl only made them look silly, they gave it up."

The stone at his back was warm now, and Thorin could tell from how close her voice sounded that Bell was just on the far side of the wall. "I would have liked to have seen it."

"The race was closer than I would have liked. I wasn't the only one who'd been practicing. But in the end it came down to me and one other runner. You know him. Mister Bilbo Baggins. We were nearly neck and neck coming down the hill towards the finish line. He was older-taller and faster, but I had better control of my egg. It was anyone's race."

"Until Bilbo tripped over his own feet, dropped his egg and stepped on it, leaving himself covered in egg-innards, and Bell Goodchild to win the day," came a familiar voice from Thorin's door.

Thorin leapt to his feet and raced to the slot. "Bilbo?" A glance through showed him nothing. Not a soul moved in the hallway.

"At your service," came the voice again, inches from Thorin's face.

"What's going on?" Bell called. "Whose voice is that?"

"It's me, Bilbo Baggins," said the voice, a little louder, then in the space of an eyeblink, Bilbo materialized just outside Thorin's door.

Thorin staggered back. "That's impossible. You're dead."

"Unlikely, yes. Impossible, no. And I'm most assuredly not dead. Nor are the rest of the company. They're imprisoned here in the Elf king's dungeons as well, though in a different part of this honeycomb. I've been lurking about here for ever so long, with a little help from a magic ring I came across in the Misty Mountains."

Thorin wrapped his hands around the thick edges of the slot. "What happened? Tell me."

As the hobbit told his tale, Thorin felt his jaw drop wide and snapped it back closed again. Spiders and stings, invisibility rings and the lifting of the terrible aching guilt that had clung to Thorin like a storm cloud.

"You have to get us out of here, Bilbo," he said. "You must find a way. Time's passing swiftly, and if we're to reach our goal before Durin's Day, there's little time to spare."

"I shall do my best," Bilbo said, "but for now, I must disappear again. Someone's coming."

The hobbit vanished and Thorin hurried back towards the vent. "Keep up your courage, Bell," he whispered, giving the four quick raps to warn of an approaching guard. "We may get out of this yet."

#

**Author's Note: This was fun to write. Naldor is an original character that I have referenced before, once upon a time, although I've never actually written him. He's the father of the OC I created for my first ever fanfic, a Lord of the Rings Legolas/OC romance called Elfsong. I wrote it over a decade ago now, and it's been fascinating to me to go back through it and see the difference in my writing between then and now.**


	35. Chapter 35

Bell listened to Thorin pacing his cell, his heavy footsteps so constant and steady they were nearly hypnotizing. Since the moment Bilbo had appeared, Thorin hardly ever stopped moving, save to sleep. In the moments they were able to talk, he speculated on how Bilbo might be able to break them all free. The hobbit had been back to speak to them several times, and he reported that not only were they locked in cells, but the doors of the Elf king's hall were magic, and could not be opened.

Thorin had tried to talk Bilbo through picking a lock, but that attempt had failed, whether through Bilbo's inability to follow the directions or simply that Elven locks differed from Dwarven ones, Bell didn't know, and she didn't suppose it mattered. The only advantage she could see to being freed from her cell was the chance to actually see another person again.

To see Thorin, if she were honest with herself. It astonished her how quickly she'd come to depend on knowing he was nearby. Remembering how closed she'd come to despair, when she thought she was alone in this place, she didn't like to contemplate what sort of a state she'd be in if not for his presence. The voice in the night that calmed her. The man whose moods she'd learned to read, simply by the sounds that filtered through to her cell. Who shared his own fears when the world seemed bleakest, despite himself, and let her be a balm to his troubled soul.

She closed her eyes and let the rhythm of Thorin's footsteps quiet her mind. Her thoughts drifted, back towards the first moments when she'd woken from the enchanted river's nightmare. At first, all she could recall was the panic that had swamped her-fighting off the arms that held her captive, taking them to be a troll's-but the hypnotic beat of Thorin's feet allowed her to look farther back than she had before, to the very first moments above the river's surface.

Broken fragments of images slipped across her eyelids, mingled with remembered flashes of smell, touch, and sound. The arms that had quickly become so frightening had first been a safe haven, filled with the subtle scent of musk and spice. A deep voice told her time and again that she was safe. The same voice that tried to reassure her now through the days of captivity.

Bell opened her eyes and bit her lip, tapping her foot against the ground in an agitated beat. This new memory cast a different light onto the moments that came after. How when her eyes had finally refocused, Thorin had been the first person she saw, standing closer than the rest. The look of fear on his face when he stared down at her. How he'd reached a hesitant hand towards her before she flinched away. How he'd gone from fearful to fierce in the space of a heartbeat, and remained there for the better part of a day, only to soothe her to sleep in the night . . .

The tempo of her foot picked up pace.

A series of knocks broke into her thoughts. The question code. Bell shook her head to clear it. What sort of wild fantasy was she building? Trying to see signs of something that in all likelihood wasn't there to be found? _Foolish hobbit_, she chided herself, crossing to peer through the slot in her door.

"There's no one here," she said, trying to ignore the strange shallow feel of her heartbeat.

"Something's bothering you."

"I . . . it's nothing," Bell stammered. Was he mind-reading now? "Just thinking about how we'll escape."

"No, you're not. You don't fidget like that, except when there's something bigger bothering you."

"It's just . . ." she hesitated and gathered the ends of her tunic into her fists. She shouldn't do it-shouldn't ask questions that might lead to answers she didn't want to hear-but she couldn't help herself. "There was something you said on the night we were captured. When Bofur and the rest charged off towards the Elven fires. You said, 'If you get lost in this place, I may never find you again.'"

"Yes."

"_I_, Thorin," Bell swallowed to steady herself before continuing. "Not _we_. Not _the company_-I. And it was you who was carrying me when I woke. You who told me to take what water I needed, when we were all in danger of dying of dehydration."

He didn't reply, and Bell found herself grateful that she couldn't see his face. If she'd guessed wrong-if she'd imagined something that was nothing at all-would her questions push him away? She didn't think she could keep going if he withdrew from her.

Even so, she couldn't bite back the question, "Why? Why be so careful of me?"

Thorin's pacing stopped, dropping the dungeon into a silence so palpable Bell thought she could bury herself beneath it and almost felt tempted to try.

"Thorin? What aren't you telling me?"

She could hear his breathing quicken, then he drew in a long inhalation. "Over the course of our travels I . . . came to care for you, Bell." His voice rumbled in a low baritone so rich it sent vibrations coursing through her skin.

So she hadn't imagined it. Her heart raced, so fast it made her dizzy. "And me?" she asked, digging her fingers into her thigh. "Did I . . . care for you as well?"

Before Thorin could reply, the distant flicker of torchlight glimmered through the slot in her door. A returning guard. Bell fought down a wave of frustration and knocked four times in short succession, warning Thorin not to speak.

He gave one short rap in response.

Bell hugged her knees close and rested her forehead on balled fists. Of all the times the Elves could choose to return, why now? The better to torment her, she supposed. Now she would have no choice but to wait, with nothing to do but wonder what sort of answer she would receive. She hadn't thought it was possible for time to move more slowly in the perpetual dimness of the dungeon. She'd been wrong.

#

Strange sounds woke Bell from a troubled slumber. Hushed voices nearby. The scrape of metal against metal at her door.

She stumbled to her feet and retreated to the far corner, pressing herself against the stones. Had the Elves finally decided to do something with her? Would Thranduil try to drag answers from her lips? Had they come for Thorin, too?

The bolt slid back and her door swung inward. Bilbo Baggins stood in the threshold, a large ring of iron keys in his hand. A cluster of bearded men peered in past him. Bell stepped away from the wall and took a step towards the door, her eyes scanning the men for Thorin.

She found him just behind Bilbo. He'd grown thinner, his face gaunt, emphasizing his aquiline nose, but the eyes were just as bright as she remembered, fierce and piercing. When her gaze locked with his, she found herself trapped, unable to look away, until the corner of his lips softened into a half-smile.

Bilbo beckoned her forward. "Come on," he whispered. "Follow me. I have a plan."

Bell raced to the door. The Dwarves backed up to make space for her to exit. She wanted to greet them, but Bilbo shushed them all with a raised finger in front of his lips, and hurried them off down the hallway.

The Dwarves all looked smaller than she recalled, and it took Bell a moment to realize that it wasn't just that they'd grown thin, but the Elves had apparently taken most of their clothing as well. None of them wore any of their outer layers, which had added a great deal to their bulk. All that was left was their trousers, tunics, and boots. Of course, not one of them carried a weapon.

Bell scampered along near the rear of the line, listening intently for any sound that might warn them of approaching Elves. It had become clear while they were in the forest that her hearing was keener than the rest, but she heard nothing, save for a rumbling sound that grew louder with each passing step. When she realized it was the sound of rushing water her steps slowed. Where was Bilbo leading them?

A hand touched the small of her back and she glanced over her shoulder. Thorin's deep-set eyes stared back at her, barely visible in the dark corridor. He pressed his fingers against the side of her spine, urging her to keep the pace.

Forcing her nerves back down, she hurried ahead, catching up to Nori. The air grew moist and the smell in the corridor shifted, reminding Bell of the scent of fresh-turned ground after a rain. Bilbo directed the Dwarves down a branching tunnel. Instead of the same earthen ground, this tunnel had a wooden plank floor that dropped down a set of stairs to a broad dock, built out in the open space over a swift-running river.

Rows upon rows of barrels were stacked in piles across the dock. Most were unopened, but near the end of the expanse, next to a rectangular opening in the planks, stood a large number of empty barrels, their lids leaning up against their sides.

Bilbo spread his hands and beamed. "Here it is," he said in a low voice. "Your escape route!"

"Tell me you don't mean what I think you mean," said Dwalin, running a hand through his beard.

Bilbo ushered the company across the dock towards the empty barrels. "These are ready to be returned down the river. I've seen them do it many times. They roll them off the dock, and away they float. They raise the portcullis-" he gestured to a wrought-iron lattice that rose from beneath the surface of the river towards the ceiling, "-and off the barrels bob. They may have bespelled the door, but not the river."

Bell's insides went numb. Cold seeped inwards from her skin towards her bones. She couldn't pull her eyes from the water, racing past below through a narrow gorge in the bedrock at the base of the Elf king's hall.

"I'm not getting in there," said Fili.

"Yes, you are," Thorin replied. "And quickly, before anyone returns."

At Thorin's command, the company crept ahead. Surprisingly, it was Ori who screwed up his courage first to clamber into a barrel. It was large, and Bilbo gathered up armfuls of straw to shove down in around him to cushion him against any unforeseen buffeting.

Seeing young Ori make the first move, the rest followed suit. The barrels were of varying sizes, and those who opted for the smaller barrels required less straw. Bilbo and Thorin pounded the lids into place, making certain they wouldn't come loose on the downstream journey.

Oin and Gloin complained bitterly, and Balin muttered about old bones.

Bell watched all of this as if from a distance, shivers racing through her. The cursed dream she'd managed to bury, at least for a little while, surged up around her, pulling at her feet, her legs, her belly. Without thought, she backed away from the barrels and the gaping hole in the floor and the overwhelming roar of the river. Instinct told her to run. To put as much distance between herself and the water as she could, but her back came up against the wall and there she stopped, gasping in shallow breaths.

#

One by one, Thorin and Bilbo carefully stuffed the Dwarves into place. Thorin pounded the lid down over Bofur, making certain there were no seams through which the water could seep.

Bilbo glanced over at him from behind the next barrel. "Did you pack Bell?"

"No," Thorin said. He hadn't so much as seen her since they reached the dock. Spinning around, he found her huddled against the back wall, her fingers wrapped around a protruding root, a wild look in her eyes.

His stomach sank and he crossed to her with brisk strides. "You need to come with me. Now."

She shook her head, her knuckles whitening. "I can't. You know I can't."

"You have to."

"I've drowned enough times. I can't do it again." The whites of her eyes showed fully around her irises, like a pony spooked by lightning.

"Thorin, if you wouldn't mind hurrying?" said Bilbo. "They'll be coming soon."

Thorin grasped Bell's shoulder. "You have to trust me."

She shook her head, her curls flying. "Go on. Make your escape. Take back Erebor, and maybe someday you can come back and find another way to free me."

"Thorin?" Bilbo's voice rose to a worried pitch. "I hear someone coming."

She left Thorin no choice.

"I'm sorry, Bell." He wrenched her hands from the root, slung her over his shoulder, and raced towards the last open barrel, one of the largest. With no time to be gentle, he dropped Bell in feet first and jumped in after her. He pulled her into a crouch and held her fast, arms pinned so she couldn't struggle.

Bilbo shoved handfuls of straw into the empty space

"No, please," Bell begged. "Let me go. _Let me go_."

Thorin let go with one arm long enough to press his hand over her mouth. With his face next to her ear, so close his beard grazed her cheek, he hissed, "I know you're afraid, but you must be silent or all is lost. Do you understand?"

A tremendous shudder ran through her small body, but when it passed, she sucked in long, shaking breaths. She nodded, then buried her face against his chest, her hands clenching in his tunic.

"Brave girl," he whispered. "Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Hssh!" Bilbo hissed. The lid closed over them, and Thorin heard four hard blows around its edges, then nothing more.

It had taken more than four hits to fully seal the other barrels. He turned his eyes upward. Light seeped through thin seams in sections around the edge of the circle. His arm tightened unconsciously around Bell. It would be fine. The seams were small and the barrel was large. Any leak would be slow.

Footsteps drew near. Elvish voices argued briefly over whether these were the proper barrels to send downriver, but eventually a splash sounded, followed quickly by another and another, then their own barrel was rolled onto its side.

Thorin pressed his hand tighter over Bell's mouth, afraid she'd lose her nerve and cry out, but despite trembling like a dry leaf in a windstorm, she remained silent while they spun along the planks.

The drop came with no warning. It felt like they fell for a very long time, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The barrel hit the river and sank beneath the surface, then bobbed upward, turning in a slow circle. Thorin tried to count the splashes, but lost track in the clamor of barrels bouncing off each other, sending them spinning one way and then another.

"Raise the portcullis!" an Elf shouted.

There came a loud, metallic groan. The barrel picked up speed, racing forward towards the east and freedom.

"Portcullis down!" The voice was hardly audible, but the clang when the portcullis slammed back into place, with the company on the far side, reverberated through Thorin's mind.

They were free.

#

**Author's Note: Sorry about the delay on this chapter. Had several all-day activities this weekend that completely ate up my writing time.**


	36. Chapter 36

Thorin pulled his hand away from Bell's mouth and relaxed his iron grip. She sucked in a long breath and her tense body wilted. Thorin's weight kept the barrel oriented so that he lay on his back with Bell trapped atop him. Despite the barrel's girth, there wasn't close to enough space for comfort. Too many knees with nowhere to really rest.

"Bell?" It was so dark he could hardly see her. He wondered if she'd fainted. "Are you with me?"

She nodded, her curls tickling the bottom of his chin. "I'm sorry I panicked," she whispered. "I didn't want to."

Thorin might not be able to do much with his legs, but his arms had a bit more freedom. He slid his hand behind her and cradled her head, fingers sliding through her hair. "I know you didn't, and you don't need to apologize. To do what you must, even when you're frightened, is the essence of bravery."

"I didn't, though. You did it for me."

"Not at the end. You could have given us all away if you'd made a sound, but you didn't."

Bell shifted, moving her knee from where it was digging into Thorin's shin. "I couldn't have done it alone. Thank you."

The barrel hit an unseen eddy and swung around. They both tensed, but relaxed again when it settled back into a smooth glide. It was a disconcerting feeling to be at the mercy of the river, without so much as being able to see what lay ahead. Thorin hated not being in control. How long would they be stuck in this barrel? How would they get back out again? In the rush of escape, he hadn't stopped to think that through, and he wondered whether Bilbo, who'd had a little longer to consider the matter had a plan.

For the first time, he found himself very grateful to the little hobbit, and began to see some of the value Gandalf had insisted was buried inside Mister Baggins. He was resourceful, and if his tale of rescuing the rest of the company from the spiders in Mirkwood was true, then he was braver than he gave himself credit for.

A realization struck Thorin. The barrel he'd stuffed himself and Bell inside had been the last barrel. What about Bilbo? Had he been trapped there in the Elf king's hall? Or would he trust to his magic ring and jump in after them? Bell couldn't swim. Could Bilbo? Or was it a hobbit's nature to avoid swimming?

"You can't be comfortable," Bell's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "I must be crushing you."

Thorin snorted. "If you think you can crush me, you're sorely mistaken. Though, I admit, your knees are sharp."

"Is there a better position?"

Thorin wriggled, causing the barrel to bob. "Think narrow for a moment," he said. Bell pulled her legs in tightly to her chest, giving him just a little more room to maneuver. He slipped his knees apart and she dropped into the space between his legs. "Try twisting sideways a bit." He pulled her up his chest and she ended up curled atop him a bit like a cat.

The new position gave a little more room above Bell, and made better use of the width of the barrel. For the moment, it was as comfortable as Thorin thought he could be, although he was sure it wouldn't last for long.

"All right?" he asked.

"All right."

They slipped into silence while the barrel continued its downstream journey. Over time, Bell's breathing shallowed and Thorin thought she drifted in and out of sleep. It was for the best. Water was seeping in through the seams in the lid. At first it had been negligible. A thin coating of dampness beneath his back, but it rose steadily, now at least two finger-widths deep. The added weight made the barrel ride lower in the water, which compounded the problem, placing more of the seams beneath the water line.

How long would the journey take? How far to Lake Town? Thorin had a very bad feeling that it would take more than the few hours that had passed so far. Would it be possible to get the barrel into a vertical position? He didn't think so. Not with the weight imbalance. Still, they needed to try it, and soon, before they took on any more water.

Thorin shook Bell's shoulder.

"What's it?" she mumbled.

"I don't want you to worry," he said, "but we need to try to shift the barrel."

Bell rubbed her face and lifted her head. "'I don't want you to worry' is never a good way to start a conversation."

"I know. But I mean it. We need to try to get this thing upright."

She didn't ask him why, which was probably a good decision on her part. The less she knew, in this case, the better for both of them. "How?"

"We'll have to rock the boat. You lean back and I'll push forward at the same time. If we do it hard enough, get enough momentum, that might be enough to tip us."

Her fingers flexed against his chest. "Tell me when."

"Count of three," he said, putting his hand over hers. "One. Two. _Three_."

Bell launched herself back against the wall of the barrel in the same moment that Thorin clenched his core muscles, trying to lever himself up and off the ground. The water beneath him sloshed, a different sort of sound from the river outside. The barrel tilted, their feet dipping beneath the water line, but not far enough, and it fell back into the same position it had been in before.

"Again. One. Two. Three."

With each attempt, the barrel swung a bit closer to vertical until it tipped just past and settled back down, upright. The balance was precarious. Thorin adjusted his weight instinctively to keep them vertical, despite the barrel's shifting center of gravity. He could see blue sky through the open seams. The water inside settled in the bottom of the barrel. In the narrow end, it stood nearly as deep as a full hand. There was no way Bell could avoid noticing it.

She tipped her head skyward. Glints of sunlight caught her blue eyes. She took slow, carefully controlled breaths. Thorin recognized the technique. Trying to use her breathing to keep panic at bay. She'd distracted him during his dark moments in the dungeon. Now was a chance for him to do the same for her.

He touched the back of his hand to her cheek. "I owe you an answer," he said.

She blinked and turned her gaze towards his face, though she seemed to be looking through him rather than at him. "An answer?"

"You asked whether you had cared for me."

He watched as her eyes went from distant to focused. She swallowed and nodded. "Please tell me."

"Yes, Bell." He smoothed his fingers up her cheek and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "You did."

Her lips twitched towards a wary smile. "I thought I must have when I realized how much it pained you that I'd lost my memory." She leaned her head into his hand, barely perceptibly. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure I never meant to hurt you. But why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I? To you I was little more than a stranger. It wouldn't have been honorable to try to hold you to something of which you had no memory, and I won't hold it over you now." Thorin licked his lips, watching the sunlight and shadows play over her face, mere inches from his own. "You owe me nothing. If you feel nothing for me now, then tell me so. It won't change my feelings, but I won't press you."

Bell turned her head towards his hand and brushed her lips against the backs of his knuckles. Such a soft touch, barely more than the kiss of a feather, but that simple gesture meant more than he could have dreamed.

Thorin groaned and leaned his forehead against Bell's. They were free from Thranduil's clutches, drawing closer to Erebor with each passing minute, and Bell had not rejected him, even without her memories. Despite the discomfort of their cramped, sodden quarters, he felt more at peace than he had since Bell had fallen into her cursed slumber.

He brushed back her hair and kissed her temple. She shivered in response, resting her head against his chest. Content, Thorin cradled her to him. This was enough for now.

Somewhere ahead, a voice gave a startled shout, followed shortly by another. Thorin tensed. Moments later, the barrel shot down a steep incline, lurching and swaying. Thorin let go of Bell and braced his hands against the barrel's sides. She buried her face in his chest, but made no sound.

The barrel's precarious balance wobbled. Thorin tried to counter the motion, but the force of the river was too strong. It toppled the barrel back onto its side. Water forced its way in through the seams, faster now.

"Bell, help me." Thorin grabbed her by the shoulders. "We have to get this back upright."

"Yes," she replied, her voice breathless. "Count of three. One. Two. Three."

They tried to repeat the motions that had righted them earlier, but the river fought them now, its eddies catching the barrel, spinning it haphazardly. No matter how hard they struggled, they could build no momentum.

The water now reached to Thorin's ears, rising quickly.

Bell braced her arms behind his shoulders, her hands fully submerged. "Oh, _stars_." She reached past him, touching the water coursing in through the poorly closed lid. "Thorin, it won't stop."

Her voice was rising towards panic again. Panic would help nobody. He grabbed her hand. "Look at me," he said, putting all his years of command behind his voice. "_Look at me_. You have to trust me. If you struggle, this is going to get worse."

She squeezed his fingers so hard he thought she might cut off the blood flow. "I trust you," she whispered.

"We can't stay in here much longer," Thorin said. "The deeper we sink, the faster we flood. We'll have to open the lid."

"We can't."

"This isn't a choice, Bell. Stay in this barrel and we'll die. Get out of it, and we have a chance. I'll force the lid out. The water will come in fast. We may not be able to get free until it's fully flooded."

Bell's head dropped onto their clenched hands, her breath coming in shallow pants.

"As soon as I can, I'll pull us free, but you must not fight me. You'll want to. It's instinct to do anything to escape the water, but I need you to let me work, and give me the chance to save us both."

"I'll try."

The water now nearly covered Thorin's face. There was no more time. "Do better than try," he said, his voice fierce. "I can't lose you again." Fear coursed through him like ice in his veins. He was a strong swimmer, but he knew from experience how dangerous a drowning victim could be, and the river was moving fast. This would be difficult enough alone.

"I'm going to count to three again. On three, I'm pushing out the lid."

Thorin tipped his head to keep his mouth free from the lake now subsuming him. "One. Two. Three."

#

Bell felt Thorin's muscles bunch, then he forced himself upward, using both his legs and his arms. At first the lid didn't budge. He punched the edge furthest from the river and it popped free, releasing a torrent of water into the barrel. Bell wanted to look away, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the wall of water.

Thorin ducked down again and slid his arms under her shoulders. She felt him try to force them out, but the power of the river's surge held them down. In the last moment before the barrel flooded fully, Bell sucked in a last, desperate breath, then she was trapped.

Her body screamed at her to claw her way towards the surface, but she remembered Thorin's warning, and forced herself to remain limp. With a powerful kick, he broke them free of the barrel's constraints and into the full current of the river.

Their heads broke the surface, and Bell gasped in a breath. Thorin shifted his grip, rolling onto his back, with her lying across his chest, one arm wrapped beneath her arms, the other pulling towards the shore. The water was icy cold, making it hard to breathe. More barrels drifted around them, at the mercy of the river. The shore looked very far away, its banks rocky, trees growing in copses.

Thorin's breath was harsh in her ear. He didn't fight the current, letting it continue to pull them downstream, but worked his way slowly towards the southern shore. Bell closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his arm around her, the play of his muscles beneath her back. If she could convince herself there was nothing else in the world, she thought she could keep her fears at bay.

The way he held her kept her face out of the water, making it easier for her to focus on remaining still. To let him concentrate on getting them out of the river. His ragged breath told her clearly that he needed all of his strength for it.

His legs scissored through the current, forcing them ever closer to the shore. Bell focused on the motion, feeling the steady movement beneath her. When she thought she could mimic it, she joined in, awkward at first, then stronger, moving in time with his pace. She opened her eyes and glanced towards the riverbank. With the added strength of her legs, they drew near at a quickened pace, but the broad expanse of water still separating them from dry ground chilled her even more than the river, and she closed her eyes again, concentrating on kicking.

Before long, Thorin's arm began to tremble around her. He was deeper under the surface. How cold he must be, and how weary. Bell twisted her head to look forward. "We're getting close," she gasped, past chattering teeth. "Not much farther now."

Thorin didn't reply-she hadn't expected him to-but he kicked just a bit faster, and she matched his pace, move for move. "Almost there," she panted, time and again. "Almost there." She wasn't certain which one of them she was trying to reassure.

Soon the boulders littering the shore loomed close, details coming into focus. Lichen grew in green-gray patches over their surfaces, giving them a mottled appearance. Several tree branches jutted out from the bank, partially submerged beneath the stones. The river made a sharp curve here, and the current drew them towards the rocks at a quick pace.

They were going to make it. Bell allowed herself to relax, save for her legs, and looked briefly behind. A leafy branch hove into her view. She blinked. There shouldn't be a branch like that in the river. Lifting her head, she followed the branch downwards. It protruded from a massive limb beside them, spinning in an eddy.

"Thorin?" He had his back to the danger. The tree limb swept nearer. Bell's trousers caught in branches hidden beneath the water's surface. She struggled to free herself, but couldn't pull away from the clutching limbs. The tree spun away, dragging her from beneath Thorin's arm.

Bell made one desperate lunge for him, saw his eyes darken, his face go bleak. Her hand fell short of him. She opened her mouth to scream, but without Thorin to keep her floating, she sank beneath the surface. Water forced itself into her mouth.

Now panic set in. She flailed her arms, as if she thought the water would somehow offer her a grip. Her legs spasmed, fighting to break free of the tree branch. Before she could breathe the mouthful of water, she forced it out, leaving her lungs half-empty and burning.

Then something different touched her ankle. A hand. Thorin. It had to be. He clamped her shin against his body and tore at the branches until suddenly, she was free.

Desperate for air, she tried to kick towards the surface, but couldn't tell which way was up. Her chest constricted, screaming for air. Darkness seeped in at the edges of her vision. The frenzied motions of her arms slowed, the cold river leaching away her strength.

Bright light swam past overhead. The surface. Too far away. Her legs churned, her eyes fastened on the light. Water seeped into her nostrils, threatening to gag her.

The blackness spread, tunneling her vision until there was nothing remaining but pale watery glimmers. Her legs slowed. Stopped. In the moment before she surrendered, she thought she felt herself rising, but it was too late.

The world vanished into nothingness.

#

**Author's Note: Well, stopping there will certainly give me incentive to get the next chapter done in a hurry! Eeep.**


	37. Chapter 37

Cold fingers dug into the back of Bell's neck. Something warm covered her mouth. Air forced its way into Bell's lungs. Her chest rose and fell, although she wasn't breathing. She _should_ be breathing.

It seemed too difficult, but then a voice was calling her name. A voice that drew her like a lodestone. She knew that voice. Knew it in the depths of her soul.

The voice resolved itself into words. "Breathe, Bell. Curse it all, _breathe_."

She tried. Forcing herself to expand her lungs, she gagged, then expelled the water clogging her airways in a terrifying choking fit.

Someone rolled her onto her side, murmuring encouragement in deep, masculine tones. She knew his touch, although she couldn't think hard enough to come up with a name. Her hand fumbled towards him, fingers tangling in long, wet hair and damp cloth while she fought to breathe.

Each inhalation brought a new paroxysm, until she thought her ribs would crack. Strong arms gathered her close, one hand buried in her hair, the other running in circles over her back. "It's all right. I've got you. It's over." His breath was hot against her brow, her temple, her cheek.

Slowly, she gained mastery over her lungs. The water was gone, and she sagged against her rescuer, exhausted and spent. The wet fabric of his tunic lay crumpled beneath her cheek, imprinting itself into her skin. Her hand moved towards it, tugged the bunched linen downward. Her fingertips grazed over the muscles of his chest.

Bell let her hand linger, softly tracing the hard lines. She'd felt this before. Her eyes remained closed, her lips parted.

He covered her hand with his own, stilling her searching fingers.

She let her head fall back and opened her eyes. Eyes, the deep blue of the sky at midnight, watched her in a sharp face. Long dark hair, shot through with silver at the temples hung in damp waves from a high forehead. A proud nose and lips that looked nearly purple with cold.

He let go of her hand and smoothed back a wet curl that hung over the corner of her eye, then ran his thumb over the swell of her cheekbone. "Can you speak?"

Bell swallowed and licked her lips. "I don't know." Her voice creaked, cracked, but it didn't set her coughing again.

The corner of his lips pulled back into a wary smile and his eyes glinted. "It's all right," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You don't have to."

The gesture pulled her back closer to reality, past the river that had tried to claim her. Tried and failed. "It was you," she whispered. He'd fought the river for her, and he had won. His name rolled to the tip of her tongue. "Thorin." She tested the word. It tasted like Beorn's honey on her tongue. _Thorin_. A name that meant safety. Power. _Love_?

Bell's eyes flashed wide, heart surging up to clog her throat. She lifted her hand and touched the side of his face, the coarse hairs of his beard prickling against her palm.

He tilted his head, one eyebrow raised just higher than the other. "Bell?"

Tears leapt into her eyes, stinging and sharp. Her breathing went shallow. Despite everything-the ache of her half-drowned body, the cold of fast-approaching night-she smiled. Reaching her hand up and cupping it around his neck, Bell guided his face closer, until his lips were a breath from her own. She lifted her head and kissed him, a single kiss into which she poured all the love that had remained buried beneath the river's curse for so many long days.

When she pulled away, she smiled up at him. His expression was bewildered, but his pale skin held a soft flush. Bell's hand fell away, her weariness making her weak. Even so, the beating of her heart spread warmth through her blood like spiced wine in winter. "_I remember_."

His arm that was supporting her weight trembled. He laid his fingers against her cheek. His lips twitched and his tongue darted out to dampen them. "What do you remember?"

"Everything. Thorin, I . . ."

Her words were swallowed by his lips claiming hers-hard, desperate, demanding. She tried to match him-to show him with her actions how much she loved him-but she had too little strength, and soon he released her mouth, trailing kisses over her face, her hidden dimples, her eyelids, the tips of her ears.

She shivered and tried to press herself closer to him.

He pulled back, looking down at her through eyes nearly lost in black. "By the Valar, I love you."

"And I you, Thorin Oakenshield," Bell replied. "Always."

Another shiver shot through her. Thorin rubbed his hand over her arm. "You're freezing. We're both freezing. Can you walk?"

A part of her mourned the moment's ending, but the better part of her realized they were both drenched, night was approaching, and if they didn't move, they'd be in danger from hypothermia. "I suppose we'd best find out."

Thorin helped her to her feet, keeping a hand at the small of her back to steady her when she swayed. She waited for a moment for the world to stop spinning, supporting herself with one hand propped against her thigh. "What now?" she asked.

"We'll keep heading east. Follow the river. With luck we'll catch up to the rest before too long. Without it, I fear it's still a long hike to Lake-town."

A flutter of nerves coursed through her at the thought of the rest of the company still floating downstream, trapped in those horrible barrels. "Do you think any of the others might have flooded?"

Thorin shook his head. "Bilbo and I sealed them well. There wasn't time for him to fully seal our lid. I'd hoped it would be good enough but . . ." he raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Bell straightened and tried to smile. "We're all right," she said. "Thanks to you."

He grasped her upper arm and turned her face towards him with the subtle pressure of two fingers against her jaw. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you. I keep my word."

Her smile grew stronger. "I will never doubt."

"Good." Thorin pulled her into his arms. "Because there's nothing in this world that will tear you from me. I swear it."

Bell let herself sink into the warmth of his body and the air of rightness that being with him kindled in her soul. Memories of stolen moments at the ford of the Carroc raced through her. Of the wounds that he'd suffered. Of her own senseless acts of bravery masking the depths of her love for this man. Every kindness he had shown. Every touch in the night.

Thorin cupped her shoulders and gently pressed her away from him. "We have to go, Bell, before we both freeze."

She nodded reluctantly. "I know."

He gestured down to the east with his head. The heavy waves of his hair were beginning to dry. "That way."

Bell nodded and took a hesitant step. When her legs held her weight, without too much protest, she set off, following near the back side of the lichen-encrusted rocks that lined the river. She could feel him just behind her, despite the fact he didn't touch her.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she said, "When all this is over, will you promise me something?"

"Anything you ask."

She bit her lip. "Teach me to swim?"

Thorin's laugh was music to her soul. "It would be my great pleasure."

#

They walked until night fell-a slow, lingering twilight, crowned with a purple and red sunset over the trees of Mirkwood behind them to the west. Despite their reduced vision, the sight of a natural twilight heartened them both, after the terrible nights that crashed down like axe-strokes in Thranduil's realm.

A gibbous moon hung overhead, giving enough light to see by. Thorin kept close watch over Bell, ready to catch her if she should stumble. They'd managed to dry out, but even so, despite the exercise of hiking east, cold still clung to him, and he worried for Bell.

He didn't tell her how close he'd come to losing her. Didn't want to think about it himself. Another few minutes more, and he would have been too late to save her. Even so, she kept moving, without complaining, although he knew she had to be worse off than he was.

Every now and again she glanced behind her, as if to reassure herself he was still there. He gave her a swift kiss on the back of her hand, or a gentle touch on her shoulder, and she smiled wearily, then turned her attention back to the ground ahead of her.

By the time the moon had reached its zenith, however, Thorin knew she was failing. They would have to stop soon. There had been no sign of the rest, although Thorin kept a close eye on the riverbanks.

Bell paused and cocked her head. "What's that sound?"

"I don't hear anything."

"It's coming from up ahead, I think. Listen." She beckoned him forward, and they crept ahead, more carefully now. Thorin had learned to trust Bell's ears.

Soon, he heard it too. A hollow thudding sound.

The river took a sharp northward turn just ahead. Thorin squinted towards the shallows in its bend. A flotilla of barrels jostled in the still water, just outside the pull of the current.

"It's barrels, Bell," he said, moving past her, catching her hand and pulling her behind him. "It could be the others."

She kept pace, her fingers clenched in his to make up for her lack of sight. She might have the better hearing, but he was a Dwarf, and long years spent underground had honed his night vision.

It didn't take long to reach the shallows in the river's curve. Thorin made a quick count. "There's more here than went in with us," he said.

"Should we shout?"

He shook his head. "There may be other folk about, and we don't know how far Thranduil's reach extends. We should try to stay hidden as far as Lake-town."

"But how will we know if these are them?"

"You could just ask me?" came Bilbo's voice from just behind them.

Thorin spun, biting back a curse. "Bilbo Baggins, I am grateful for everything you've done, but if you keep sneaking up like that, you're going to end up with a knife in your belly someday."

"I'd find that a bit more frightening, if you had a knife to your name," Bilbo said. He reached out a hand with a loaf of bread clasped in it. "Food?"

Thorin took the bread and handed it to Bell. "Where did you get that?" he asked, his gaze never leaving the hobbit.

Bilbo tipped his head and gave a half bow. "I'm a burglar," he said. "I burgled it. But what happened to the two of you? Why are you out of your barrel?"

Bell split the bread in two and gave half back to Thorin.

He took it and tore off a small chunk. It smelled of molasses and oats. "The lid wasn't properly sealed. We flooded."

Bilbo looked abashed. "There wasn't time. I'm sorry."

Thorin waved away the hobbit's apology. There was no use apportioning blame. What was done was done. "We survived," he said. "But how did you get here? There were no more barrels left."

"I've learned a good deal more about barrel riding than I ever wished to know," Bilbo said, an acerbic tinge to his voice. "And there will be more to come, I'm afraid."

"But we're here now," Bell said. "We could put you inside."

"And who would seal you in?" Bilbo asked. "How would you remain unseen? Remember, I have the ring. I'm as invisible as the wind."

Thorin swallowed his bite and followed it quickly with another. The bread was delicious, a bit of the baking oven's heat still trapped in its center, and he found he was very hungry indeed after his battle with the river.

"When I was in town," Bilbo said, "I overheard some of the rivermen talking. They're coming in the morning to push the barrels downstream."

"Do you know how much further it is to Lake-town?" Thorin asked.

"The better part of a day, I'm afraid."

"We should find the others," Bell said. "Let them stretch out a bit, if nothing else." She looked down at what remained of the loaf in her hand. "I'm sure they would enjoy some of this."

"I'd been thinking that myself," Bilbo said, "but one of the rivermen mentioned a look-out, who patrolled the riverbank from time to time in the night, and I didn't think it was worth the risk of being found."

Thorin resisted the urge to press his fist against his skull. "And you let us stand here talking?"

"I've been listening." Bilbo puffed out his chest, "And I haven't heard a thing."

Thorin turned towards Bell. "I hate to even ask this . . ."

"You want to go back in a barrel," she said, her voice colorless.

"Durin's day draws ever closer. Even if we could avoid detection hiking to Lake-town, we'd lose a lot of time, and what would the rest do if they arrived without us?"

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, the moonlight glinting off their pale points, her face gone pale. "Don't make me go alone."

"Never."

Thorin touched the back of her hand gratefully, then turned his attention back to Bilbo. "Come along, then, Mister Baggins. Let's find a likely barrel. Bigger than the last. And this time, see to it the lid is fully sealed."

"Never fear," Bilbo replied. "I'll close it so hard it may never open again."

Bell made a sorrowful sound.

"Not really, of course," Bilbo said, wading out among the barrels. "Just an expression."

He found a large barrel and dragged it towards the shore. It was bigger than any that had been on the dock in the Elf king's hall. Between them, Thorin and Bilbo popped the lid free.

Bilbo cast a wary look Bell's direction. She stood a little apart, far enough she wouldn't hear Bilbo's whispered question. "Is she all right?"

"She will be," Thorin said, clapping the hobbit on the shoulder. He called back to her, "Bell, it's time."

She approached with a halting stride, but the panic that had overwhelmed her the first time she was presented with a barrel stayed beneath the surface. Although her skin was pale and her jaw clenched, she came without protest, stopping between two boulders at the river's edge.

Thorin motioned for her to wait, covered the few steps to her side, and swept her into his arms. He brought his lips to her ear. Her curls tickled his cheek. "I won't let you go," he whispered. "You know that."

Bell shivered. "I know. I trust you." She swallowed and he felt her arm tighten around his neck. "Put me in the barrel."

Careful to avoid jostling her, Thorin set Bell down. Bilbo held the barrel steady while he clambered in after her. There was enough room inside for them to sit side by side, if they didn't mind being pressed close.

While Bilbo pounded the lid into place so tightly Thorin began to worry he'd been telling the truth that they'd never get the it off again, he wrapped an arm around Bell and she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Bilbo gave the barrel a final slap. "I'm going to roll you back into the river. The rivermen might wonder if they find just one heavy barrel most of the way out of the water."

Bell trembled, but nodded her understanding.

"Do it," Thorin said.

With a grunt, Bilbo tipped the barrel onto its side and rolled it back among the rest.

Thorin braced himself, to keep them from being knocked about inside. There had been no straw with which to pad the empty space. When the barrel settled into position, they lay together almost as if they were in a bed, if a bed were shorter than a hobbit.

Bell was silent, her body tense. Thorin rolled onto his shoulder and lay his free hand on her waist.

She shifted, tilting her head towards him. "Mmm?"

The sound told him where her face was. He lowered himself towards her and touched her lips with his own-a soft, tentative touch, more of a question than a demand.

"Nothing better to do in a barrel?" she asked when he pulled away.

"Can you think of anything?"

"Not at all."

Thorin allowed himself an amused grin and slid his hand past her waist towards her back. "Then let me make up for lost time."


	38. Chapter 38

Bell's world constricted until there was nothing more than the taste of Thorin's mouth, his warm breath that broke in ragged exhalations against her skin, and the bristle of his beard beneath her tentative lips when she found the courage to kiss her way along the edge of his jaw and down his neck. She lost herself, and all sense of the passage of time, in the pleasure of tender caresses that flared to a heat so intense she thought she would burn from the inside out.

When her hand slid down his side and traced the curve of his hip, Thorin shuddered, groaned, and pulled her hand away. "Enough," he whispered.

Bell made a muted sound of protest.

Thorin kissed her forehead and pulled her head down to rest against his shoulder. "Enough." His voice was soft, like the brush of a dandelion seed dancing past on the breeze. "Close your eyes. Try to rest."

The way her body hummed, Bell didn't think she could sleep, but Thorin's hand smoothing rhythmically through her hair soothed her, and finally the toll of the day won out over passion.

She hardly noticed the thump of a riverman's pole shoving them back out into the current, and the swift passage downstream.

#

By the time the barrels came to a stop again, Bell ached in all her joints, especially her hips, which felt like she'd been both battered and stabbed. The battering, at least, was true. When the barrels sped through rough patches in the river, she and Thorin had been pounded off the walls, despite their best efforts to brace themselves. Bell found herself with a strong feeling of affinity for laundry scrubbed and pounded into cleanliness. She felt as rumpled and worn as a rag.

The stabbing pain came from simply being trapped in one position for far too long. How much worse it must be for the others! Not once had they been released from the barrels since being stuffed into them in Thranduil's hall. A sick, worried feeling settled in Bell's gut. What would they find when they opened the lids?

The barrel bobbed gently, thudding now and again against its neighbors, no longer moving forward, simply turning like a leaf caught on the surface of a lake. Had they arrived? How would they know?

Bell lifted her head from Thorin's shoulder and turned towards him, thinking to ask her questions, but he placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. She shifted, trying to take some of the pressure off her hip, but succeeded in nothing more than rocking the barrel.

Giving up on trying to find any way to be more comfortable, Bell settled herself back down and tried to concentrate on Thorin's warmth. The cold of the river seeped through the wood beneath her although, praise the Valar, the interior of the barrel remained blessedly dry. Still, it was chilly and, if not for Thorin being stuffed in with her, Bell thought she'd feel like a rose bush in winter, all branches and frost, no hint of the life that would bloom forth with the sun.

A splashing noise that didn't match the steady, low clamor of the drifting barrels approached. She touched Thorin's shoulder, to get his attention. His arm tightened around her. The splashing stopped just outside the barrel, then a sharp rap on its side rang out. "Thorin? Bell? Are you in there?"

"Yes, Mister Baggins," Thorin replied, "and quite ready to be out. Is it time?"

"It's time. Hold on a minute. Let me see about getting you upright."

In the end, Bilbo had to give up on getting the barrel upended-Thorin and Bell's combined weight was simply too much for him to shift-and he settled on rolling them as close to the shore as he could manage.

"You're going to get wet, I'm afraid."

"Just get us out of here," Bell said.

"Thorin, can you push on the top?"

With the barrel partly balanced on the riverbed, and Bilbo propping it into place, Thorin managed to twist himself until he was crouched over Bell, balanced on one knee. He braced his hands against the top of the lid, his foot on the back and pushed, grunting with the effort.

Bell reached over her head and pushed as well, although she didn't know how much she helped. Bilbo worked from the outside until the lid gave way with a sucking pop. Water flooded in, soaking Bell's back, but it was shallow, leaving her colder and wetter, but in no danger of being swept away again.

Bilbo reached for her hand and tugged, with Thorin pushing from inside. In moments, Bell slipped free. She staggered to her feet, her legs half-dead from lack of circulation, hips screaming in protest, but the luxury of being able to stand to her full height, diminutive though it may be, was more than worth the pain.

Thorin dragged himself out behind her, stumbling and awkward. Bell grabbed his arm to steady him, despite being none too steady herself.

Bell paused a moment to collect herself and take in her surroundings. It was twilight, a few stars just beginning to shine through the tattered tapestry of clouds shrouding the sky. The moon hung low, little more than a dim glow in the blue-gray.

The barrels had come to rest at the end of a lake so long, Bell couldn't see the end of it before it vanished into the darkness. Nearby, a city built on piers extending out over the water glittered with torches and candles in windows.

"Come on," Bilbo said. "Let's find the rest."

There were many barrels now, far more than had begun the journey. The three companions waded out among them, knocking and calling. At first, they had no luck, but finally they found a barrel out of which a voice replied with a piteous whimper, "Help me."

Thorin and Bilbo righted the barrel and forced its lid free, revealing a waterlogged and shivering Balin. He couldn't so much as stand. Thorin had to drag him out and carry the old Dwarf to the shore. There, Balin collapsed, trembling so hard Bell thought he must lose his teeth from chattering.

She dropped to her knees beside him and began to chafe his arms and hands. "Balin, it's all right," she said. "We're here now. We'll get you warm."

Bilbo and Thorin went back fishing among the barrels, and eventually found every one of the Dwarves, although it took some looking, for six of them were too weakened to even open their eyes, let alone respond to their calls.

Fili and Kili came out the best. They were stiff, but young bones recovered quickly, and they joined in to help find and haul the rest to the shore.

Faced with ten Dwarves in varying states of freezing and exhaustion, Bell desperately longed for anything with which to start a fire. "We've got to get them warm," she said, looking up at Thorin. "And fed."

He peered through the night towards the lights of Lake-town. "We'll go to the city," he said. "They knew my grandfather and my father of old, and I think they would aid me."

"Go then," Bell urged. "Get help."

"We'll come with you," said Fili, clapping a hand on Kili's shoulder. "The full strength of Durin's line."

"I'm coming, too," said Bilbo.

Thorin nodded and raised a questioning eyebrow towards Bell.

"I can't leave them here," she said, helping guide Bifur to where Bombur and Bofur lay piled together. Another body would help to warm them. "I'll do what I can for them, but it won't be enough. They need real help, and soon."

"You'll be all right here?" Thorin asked.

"Fine. Go."

She didn't watch them leave. There was too much to be done. Dwalin hadn't opened his eyes not even when Thorin and Fili had dragged him through the shallows, his feet trailing in the water. His clothes were thoroughly drenched, and Bell wondered just how much of the river had made its way into his barrel.

It was strange to see him so weak. Of all the Dwarves, he was the one who Bell could least imagine to be laid low by anything. So full of bravado, and surliness, and loyalty that made him fierce, sometimes when he had no cause to be. He was breathing, at least-she'd checked-but his heart rate felt much too slow, his skin like ice.

Ori and Dori lay nearby, their eyes open, but listless and pale. Nori had managed to sit up. He moved his legs gingerly, wincing in pain. Bell sympathized with him, but she needed his help. "Nori," she called. "Help me."

He groaned, staggered to his feet, and came to stand beside her. "I need you to hold him," she said.

Nori looked like he might protest, but thought better of it. He lay down beside Dwalin and nestled himself against the big Dwarf's back. "Tell Dori he'd best join us," Nori said. "If he won't move, tell him his little brother is showing him up."

"All right."

Bell pestered Dori until he finally worked up the energy to crawl towards Dwalin and Nori. He muttered the whole way, but by the time he settled himself on Dwalin's other side, the activity had brought a little bit of color back to his cheeks, and Bell knew their gathered bodies would help to warm each other.

Oin and Gloin huddled with Balin. Bell joined Ori, rubbing her hands over his, and blew on them in an effort to warm him. If there was ever a time she would have given anything for a steaming tea kettle, this was it. Hot tea in the belly would help these men far more than she could manage on her own, and a splash of spirits added in wouldn't go amiss, she knew, although she'd never tasted the stuff herself.

How long had Thorin and the others been gone? How long would it take to send help? What if the Lake-men refused? What would they do then? The Dwarves were in no state to fight. They would be at the mercy of the Men. After their encounter with the Elves of Mirkwood, Bell was less inclined to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. What would she do if Men came to find them, for reasons other than to aid them.

She fumbled in the dark for a rock she could use as a weapon of last resort. Her hand closed on a fist-sized stone, worn smooth by the river. It would do, if necessity forced her to defend her companions.

Ori shivered and curled towards her, instinctively seeking her warmth. Bell leaned up against the pile of Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and help Ori pull himself upright, until he could rest across her lap like a particularly large child.

There was nothing more she could do. Feeling helpless and useless, she settled down to wait for Thorin's return.

#

It was the noise that alerted her first. Loud voices, shouts and singing. Soon, a swarm of torches appeared from the night like fireflies. Bell's hand tightened around her stone, the other curling on Ori's shoulder.

She watched until the torches were close enough she could see the bearers. Men, tall and strong. Some were bearded, though not all, and their sturdy homespun clothes were serviceable, well cared-for, but not fine. So many! She tried to count them, but failed. Too many faces, illuminated by guttering flames.

Bell forced herself to speak. "Who goes there?"

"Men of Lake-town," said a Man near the front of the crowd, "come to bring you into the city."

"To help or to hinder?"

Thorin stepped out from behind the wall of Men. "It's all right, Bell," he said. "These men have welcomed me to their city. They will help the companions of the rightful heir to the King Under the Mountain."

The stone rolled from Bell's nerveless fingers. "Thank you, then," she said, addressing the Men. "Please. Can we get them someplace warm?"

"Sure enough," someone said. The crowd surged forward dragging Dwarves from their piles, setting those who could stumble under their own power on their feet, and hefting the rest between them. Someone pulled Ori off of Bell, then Thorin appeared and helped her to her feet.

He led her away from the milling crowd of Men. "Will they be all right?" he asked.

"I think so," she said, "if we can get them thawed. I'm worried about Dwalin. He hasn't opened his eyes."

She laid her fingers on Thorin's forearm. "Do you think the Lake-men will truly help us? They won't offer us aid, then turn around and throw us back into cells?"

"They protected us from some of Thranduil's raftmen, who were at feast with them. And did you hear their song? They sing of the return of Durin's line, and the rivers of gold that will flow from the Lonely Mountain." He covered her hand with his. "I think it's safe to trust them."

A brisk wind blew past and Bell shivered.

"Come on," Thorin said. "The Dwarves aren't the only ones who need tending."

They followed after the Lake-men. When Bell stepped out onto the bridge leading to the city's piers, she felt like she was stepping into another world. She only hoped the company would recover, and soon. The thought of losing any of her companions, especially now that her full memories had returned, was more than she could bear.

#

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say again how much I appreciate all the follows, favorites, and reviews. There are some pretty stressful and depressing things going on in my life right now, and this story-and all of you who have supported it-are bright spots that keep a little bit of sunlight shining. Thank you. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.**


	39. Chapter 39

Upon entering Lake-town, everything happened so quickly, Bell could make little more of it than a hazy blur of motion and noise. The Men brought the half-drowned company to a house that had been quickly cleared for their use near the center of the longest pier. Healers were called and took over the tending of the worst off, much to Bell's relief. She had no real training in medical arts, and left to her own devices simply muddled through as best she could, hoping that nothing she tried would make anything worse than it would have been otherwise.

She felt small, insignificant, and in the way in the midst of so much commotion. It would have been easy to find a corner and hide in it, but Thorin did not remove his arm from around her waist, keeping her close while he answered what questions he could and helped direct the placement of his men among the house's many rooms.

A damp, cool breeze off the lake made its way in through open windows. There was a particular smell to the air, which Bell could not identify. It was tarry, pungent, and mixed with the strong pine scent of the wood used in the building. The smell fitted itself into a new slot in her memory, forever to be associated with Lake-town. As yet, she had no way to guess whether than memory would be good or ill. She simply stayed quiet and watched, overwhelmed at the bustle.

Finally, the Men left them, save for the healers, leaving behind blessed quiet. When had she grown so averse to such activity? Hobbits certainly congregated in loud groups often enough. In the pubs. In the markets. Was it simply that the congregants now were so very large? So unfamiliar? Their language was the same, but help strange cadences. Vowels that came out flatter than she was used to hearing. A strange burr to their 'r's.

Her head ached, and an uncomfortable pressure had started in her chest. She coughed, hoping to relieve some of the discomfort, but it didn't help.

"Bell?" Thorin's voice held a concerned edge.

"It's nothing," she said. "I just need to rest."

Bilbo stuck his head out of a hallway door. "I saved a room for you," he said, then sneezed.

He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. The little embroidered 'B' was still visible in the corner, although the white fabric had long since turned dingy.

Bell's chest constricted, dislodging another cough. When it had passed, she sighed. "Of all the things we've lost on this journey, why does it not surprise me that one of the last things remaining to us is that handkerchief?"

Thorin urged her to follow Bilbo with the pressure of his hand on her back. "Let's get you bundled in bed. You, too, Mister Baggins. You're sick."

"Try sloshing down a river for a few days and see how you fare," Bilbo replied, sniffling.

#

Bell didn't remember reaching the bed, nor did she know how long she'd been there when she finally opened her eyes to find bright daylight streaming in through an open window, shining into her eyes. She groaned and flopped an arm over her face. Her body ached. Her chest felt as if an oliphaunt had trodden on it.

Despite the weariness that settled in her bones, she was otherwise comfortable. She was pillowed on a millet-filled mattress, warm beneath a woolen blanket, that smelled a great deal like home.

"Feeling better?"

Bell moved her arm and blinked towards the voice. Dwalin sat in a chair beside her bed. The sunlight gleamed off his bald pate, casting the tattoos into sharp contrast.

"Dwalin? You're awake?" Relief flooded through her. The last she remembered of him, he'd been unconscious and cold as a block of ice. "I'm so glad."

"Been that way for two days. Better off than you, it would seem. Thorin told us you tried to swallow the river, or it tried to swallow you, at any rate. The Lake-men said the water that got trapped in your lungs sickened you. You've been feverish for some time."

She struggled to sit up. Dwalin helped her, piling pillows behind her. He lowered her gently onto the stack and gave her a half-smile. "I hear your memories have returned."

Bell nodded.

"I want you to know-" Dwalin looked down at his hands, "-what I said to you at Beorn's home. It was a mistake. I should have trusted you. Should have known what kind of a lass you are."

"Dwalin, don't-"

"Let me finish."

Bell closed her mouth, too weary to argue.

"I'm sorry for what I said. You've shown more courage, more loyalty, than many a Dwarf might have. Even when you didn't remember what had come before. Thorin could not have made a better choice."

"I'm glad to hear it," came Thorin's voice from the door.

Bell's eyes sought him instinctively. He filled the bottom of the door-frame. Clean, rested, dressed in new clothes of black linen and leather. An axe and a sword hung at his waist. His beard was trimmed, the long waves of his hair shining. He looked every inch the king Bell knew he would become.

"I'll leave you alone," Dwalin said, rising from his place and giving Bell's hair a fond ruffle. It was the sort of gesture a father might bestow on his child. "Glad to see you better."

Thorin backed away to let Dwalin pass, giving him a short nod. It was so different from that moment in the threshold of Beorn's home, when the Dwarf prince had refused to give way, that Bell smiled. Things were back as they should be.

When the room was empty, Thorin entered. He ignored the chair, settling himself on the edge of the bed. He took her hand and stroked the back of it. "You gave me a scare," he said. "I'd thought you were well."

"So did I." At least two days she'd missed, from what Dwalin said. "What's been happening? Have I missed anything important?"

"The people of Lake-town have rallied around us," Thorin said. "Furnished us with new clothes and gear. There's some for you on top of the dresser there. The Master seemed reluctant at first, but public opinion is with us, and he's been willing to let it guide him. Even now, supplies are being gathered. Ponies. Food. Everything to see us well on our way."

A weary smile spread over Bell's face. Energy seemed to radiate from Thorin in waves in a way she hadn't seen since spying on the company through Bilbo's dining room window. Purpose drove him, and now that he was so close, she could feel how eager he was to take the last step. To set foot on the mountain that had been his home. To take back the legacy of his father and grandfather.

"Have you seen it?" she asked. "Have you seen the Lonely Mountain?"

His eyes focused into the distance, seeming to pull up the image before him. His hand tightened on hers. "I've seen it. White snow glints on the peak like starlight on mithril. Its sharp flanks go deep, strong and rooted in the earth."

_Like him_, Bell thought, but kept the thought to herself.

"There is no other mountain like it, Bell. Not in all of Middle Earth. There may be others that are taller, or more massive, but all of those are surrounded by their companions. None stands strong in solitude like Erebor. None has so brilliant a heart."

"I look forward to seeing it," she said.

A shadow flickered over Thorin's face, so brief Bell wasn't sure she'd actually seen it, replaced just as quickly by a fond smile. "You will. Both the mountain and its heart." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "For now, though, you need to regain your strength."

"I don't want to slow you down."

"You aren't. Bilbo's been ill as well, and Gloin, Oin, and Balin have had a hard recovery. We'll be here for a while yet. Besides," he shrugged, "no matter how I might wish it otherwise, it takes time to gather all that is needful for an undertaking such as this. There is time."

An unfamiliar voice, with a particularly heavy Lake-man accent called Thorin's name. His eyes flashed to the door, then back to Bell. Uncertainty tightened the corners of his lips.

"You need to go," she said. "I understand. I'll be fine."

"I don't like to leave you, but the Master has been helping with the preparations."

"Go," Bell said. "I'm not going anywhere."

#

The next day, Bell felt strong enough to venture out of her room. She found the clothes that had been left for her, a brown linen skirt and a hastily altered bodice, that had clearly once been meant for a child, with darts and panels added to fit her woman's body. There was no blouse, but she guessed, correctly, that it was meant to go over the chemise she'd been placed in by the healers. The bodice was a green brocade, with the added panels in shades of gold.

It felt strange to be back in skirts after so long wearing the clothes made for her by the Elves in Rivendell. She was grateful to find those clothes had been laundered and folded, left beside the more traditional dress. When they left Lake-town, she had every intention of switching back. The trousers were simply more practical.

Grateful for the help the healer had given her in washing out her hair in a basin, Bell felt fully clean for the first time in so long she didn't really want to think about it. It was an unexpected luxury, and she let her long hair drape loose in wild rings that hung halfway down her back.

On silent feet, she found her way down the hall and out the front door of the house, without encountering another soul. Either all the Dwarves were occupied in other work, or those who might remain were still in their sick-beds.

Stepping out onto the wooden planks of the pier, Bell blinked at the brightness of the day and the colorful people who seemed to be everywhere at once. Shops marked by their painted signs lined one side of the pier, mingled with private dwellings. Late autumn flowers grew in window-boxes, giving the place a homey feel. If Hamfast Gamgee had been forced to live in a place like this, Bell felt certain it was the sort of thing he would have done.

On the far side, boats were moored to the pier, serving as shops where fishermen shouted their stock to passing goodwives. Bell saw no sign of the Dwarves, so she caught the attention of a passing matron, a smiling older woman with her silver hair caught in a bun at the nape of her neck, and a distracted air. "Pardon me, could you tell me where I would find the Master?" Bell asked.

"The Master?" the woman repeated, in a tone that said she wondered why anyone would want to find him. "I suppose you might look over at the feasting hall." She pointed to a large edifice on an opposing pier. "He does much of his _work_ there."

Bell bobbed a curtsey. "Thank you very much, Madam . . ."

"Auda," the woman replied. "Just Auda. Except for the children of course. I'm Mistress Auda to them."

"Bell Goodchild," Bell said, by way of introduction.

"Yes," Auda said, "I know. Everyone knows. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to fill my basket with trout and get back before the little scamps overrun my helpers."

Bell did not try to detain her, wondering just how many scamps the woman could have. Auda was too old to be the mother of children that small. Perhaps grandchildren? Deciding it didn't really matter, Bell hurried down the pier, looking for a connecting bridge to reach the feasting hall. She felt eyes following her, and tried to ignore them. _Everyone knows_, Auda said. Bell found she did not enjoy celebrity, and would have been much happier without it.

When she finally reached the feasting hall, Bell snuck in through the open door. It was afternoon, to judge by the sun, and there was no one in the great hall, but Bell could hear voices coming from somewhere farther inside. She crept ahead, wary of being heard. There was no reason she could give for her caution, save perhaps that she'd grown distrustful over the last months. Her feet made no sound, and the fabric of her skirt was soft enough it didn't rustle, for which she was grateful.

She slipped out a side door towards the voices and into a hallway. Now, she could make out words. One of the voices she recognized as belonging to the man who had called Thorin away earlier. The Master. The other was unfamiliar.

"Just get it done," the Master said, his tone strident. "These Dwarves are blasted expensive, and the sooner they are out of town, the happier I'll be. It's a waste of funds to send them off so well stocked to be barbecued, but I expect we'll be able to recoup much of it. If they wake the dragon, it'll make short work of them, and we can come back later to retrieve what is ours."

"Then why equip them in the first place?"

"Imbecile," the Master said, and a loud slam startled Bell so much she jumped. He must have hit a wall or a desk. "Have you heard the people? They're captivated with the romance of it all. The dream of wealth coming back down the running river. They see only a chance for prosperity like none they've had in many a long year."

"Prosperity like yours, father."

"Exactly. But mine I've earned through my own cunning. If they're too feeble-minded to prosper themselves, is that my fault? No, we must hasten these interlopers on their way, before they cost us more than they already have. Where are they now?"

Bell inched closer.

"They went down the east shore to see the ponies and provisions."

"Good. How long until all is in readiness?"

"Perhaps a few more days, father. No more."

Footsteps moved towards the door. Bell pressed herself behind a lodgepole until she was hidden in the shadows.

The door creaked open and a large Man stalked past. His graying hair hung lank to his shoulders, some swept over the balding spot on his head in a useless attempt to hide it. The broad stretch of his shoulders showed he'd been powerful in his younger years, but much of that strength had gone to fat, and his fine clothing strained around his gut.

"See to it," the Master said, looking back at the door over his shoulder. "I'm more than ready to see the back of those _Dwarves_ and their half-grown companion."

#

**Author's Note: Phew. I apologize for the long delay. I've been having a difficult time thinking about how to deal with what comes next. Much plotting, then deciding it won't work, then trying again, then backpedalling. I think I've resolved myself on what has to come, but here is where things start getting really tricky. Bumpy ride ahead.**


	40. Chapter 40

Thorin returned to the house at the setting of the sun, after sending the rest back ahead of him. He'd needed to spend some time with the Master of Lake-town alone. There were arrangements to be made that the others did not need to know about just yet. When the Master had come out to meet them on their way back from inspecting the provisions, it had given him the opportunity.

Having concluded his business, Thorin found he felt more at ease than he had in a long time. Everything was moving toward the end. Soon, he would stand on the very flanks of the mountain, and with the map and key, which he'd managed to keep even through the worst of their adversities by the precaution of securing them within the waistband of his trousers, he felt confident that they would succeed in finding, and opening, the back door.

As to what would come after, he wouldn't let his mind dwell on that yet. Mister Baggins would learn quickly enough what had become of the dragon, and it was no use borrowing trouble that might not yet come to pass.

One of the healers stepped out the door just as Thorin was approaching. He was a small Man, not much taller than the Thorin, and far less broad. "There you are, Master Dwarf," the man said, by way of greeting. "You'll be glad to hear that the girl has been up and about today, and feeling much more herself."

This was the last bit of good news remaining to cap a thoroughly successful day. "I'm glad to hear it, indeed," he said, inclining his head in gratitude. "Thank you for your care, both of Miss Goodchild and the rest of my folk. We're in your debt."

The man waved away Thorin's thanks. "There is no debt. I'm glad to have been of service."

"How long until the men will be fit to travel?"

"I would say they could travel at an easy pace even today. The eldest-Balin?"

Thorin nodded.

"He might need a day or two yet to handle a hard march, but otherwise, I'm comfortable declaring every member of your company fit for whatever may come. Now, I must go. Mistress Auda called for me not long ago. One of the boys is unwell, and I must see to him."

"Of course. I won't detain you any longer."

They bowed past each other, and Thorin pulled the door open to find the living room filled with festive Dwarves. Fili and Kili stood in the center tossing a pair of ladles back and forth to the rhythm of clapping hands and stomping feet. Kili spun a full circle between each toss, barely finishing in time to catch the whirling objects.

Thorin did nothing to announce his presence, watching the play with a glad heart. Faster and faster the Dwarves clapped until Kili collapsed in a dizzy pile. Bell's laughter rose up pure and sweet. Thorin found her seated by the hearth, the fire casting her features in shades of amber.

His heart caught in his throat. With her long hair loose, wearing an actual dress, an innocent smile brightening her face, her blue eyes sparkling as if she were lit from within, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd set eyes on. More beautiful even than the gold he knew lay piled deep in the heart of Erebor.

As if aware of the weight of his gaze on her, Bell turned and caught sight of him. "Thorin," she said, past her laughter, "you're back. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"And miss this?" His outstretched arms took in the whole merry scene. "Never."

Fili pulled Kili up off the floor, supporting his brother who was still staggering with dizziness. "Is everything all right, Uncle? What did you want with the Master?"

Thorin shut the door behind him, blocking out the bustle of Lake-town. When he turned back, he thought he saw the hint of a frown on Bell's face, as if it had swept past in the instant his back was turned, leaving behind a hint of a furrow across her brow.

"Just finalizing some arrangements," Thorin said. "They'll be sending the ponies north along the east bank in the morning. The rest of us will follow by boat the next day. Tomorrow, for us, at least, is a day of leisure, the last we're likely to see for a long time. Use it wisely."

#

Not long after Thorin returned, the company began to make their way towards their beds. Bell, who'd spent more time in hers than she cared to, lingered by the dying fire until Nori, who hadn't been satisfied with his new knives, finished grinding them to a honed edge. Ori had remained to keep Nori company, and when the knife-work was complete, they both took their leave, leaving her alone with Thorin. He'd taken a seat near her and pretended to be studying his map, although she knew his attention was, at best, divided. More often than not, when she'd glanced his way, she'd found him staring back at her from the shadows beneath his brows.

"What is it?" she asked, when all the rest were gone, turning her back to the hearth.

"What's what?"

"You've been watching me all night. Why?"

Thorin folded the map and slid it into the hidden pocket he'd added into the waistband of his new trousers. His eyes never left her and the corner of his lips pulled back in a half-smile. "Because you're beautiful?"

She looked away, a flush racing over her cheeks. "Don't tease me."

In the space of a breath, he closed the distance between them, going down on one knee beside her. He tipped her face towards him with a subtle pressure of his thumb. The firelight caught his eyes. They were always intense, but now they flared with sharp, undisguised longing. "Do I look like I'm teasing?"

Bell swallowed in a dry throat. "No," she stammered. "No, you don't."

He brought his face close to hers, so close his breath teased her ear. "You are lovely, Bell Goodchild, inside and out."

Bell shivered and leaned towards him, letting him fold her close. For a moment, she thought she should tell him what she'd overheard in the feasting hall that afternoon, but the inclination fled when he began to nuzzle along the side of her neck.

There would be time enough tomorrow. For tonight, she let him tempt her into the simple joy of loving and being loved in return.

#

In the morning, she woke alone, although she was sure Thorin had been with her when she finally fell into slumber. The day was still young, if the pinkish hue of the sunlight filtering into the room were any indication. The last day before leaving Lake-town behind and casting their fates once again upon the whims of the wild.

Despite her usual propensity to be a slugabed, Bell found that the long days of rest left her filled with more energy than was her wont, and she quickly rose, eager to take advantage of this last bit of peace. While tightening the laces of her bodice, her thoughts slipped back to the conversation she'd overheard the day before. _Those Dwarves and their half-grown companion_, the Master had said. It hadn't seemed odd at the time, but now that she thought on it, the use of the singular caught her attention.

_Silly hobbit_, she chastised herself. _You've been stuck in your bed for days and have never even met the Master. It's not odd that he should think only of Bilbo_. Besides, if the Master's thoughts were so preoccupied with expenses and keeping them to a minimum, he'd be well ready to be rid of all of his unlooked-for . . . and unwanted . . . guests.

She made her way to the living room and found Thorin there, along with Bilbo, Dwalin, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, making short work of a meal of fried fish and sweet rolls. Bell's nose wrinkled when the smell hit her. Whatever had Bombur done to the poor fish? It smelled like it had been cooked in sausage grease. Which, given that her companions were Dwarves, might well be the case.

Shaking her head with a rueful smile, Bell declined a helping of the fish, contenting herself with a roll.

"Are you feeling well today, Bell?" Thorin asked, setting down his fork.

"Very well, thank you," she replied.

"Good. I've got a plan for us for the day."

Her eyebrows raised. "A plan? That sounds . . . ominous."

Taking his plate in hand, Thorin walked towards her and squeezed her shoulder. "Only ominous if you don't trust me."

"You know I do."

"Good. Then finish your breakfast and change back into your Elven clothes. Skirts would be more a hindrance than a help today. And you might braid your hair."

Leaving Bell blinking after him, Thorin deposited his plate in a low basin on the counter for later washing and disappeared through the front door.

Bell looked around at the others. "Does anyone know what that was about?"

They shrugged and shook their heads. "Best do as he says," Dwalin advised. "Never cross a Dwarf who's set his mind on something. We sprout extra heads when we're vexed."

"The better to argue you into submission," Bofur added.

Dwalin picked up his mug and chugged down the contents, averting his eyes, though they crinkled at the corners, giving Bell the distinct impression he was avoiding looking at her for fear he'd burst into laughter.

Bell raised her hands in surrender. She had the feeling the day would prove an interesting one.

#

By the time Thorin returned with a picnic lunch in a sack, Bell was changed and ready. He led the way down the length of the piers. As before, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the Lake-men's stares. It was worse, even, with Thorin with her. She was a curiosity, but he had captured their fancies and kindled dreams of riches and wealth. The two of them together drew a good deal of attention.

Bell straightened her spine and tried to ignore the Lake-men. The company would be gone soon enough, and she wouldn't have to endure being stared at any longer. It was strange to think she was looking forward to leaving civilization behind and making her way to a mountain inhabited by a dragon, but it was the simple truth. She would be with friends. With Bilbo. Most of all, with Thorin, and without the complications of the rest of the world.

They reached the bridge connecting Lake-town to the shore. A company of soldiers guarded the gate, led by a particularly tall Man, brown of garb, brown of hair, with a shadowed face and a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He greeted Thorin by name and asked their business.

"I'm taking Miss Goodchild to see a bit of the lake country, Bard," Thorin replied.

Bard stepped back and waved his men to open the gate. "Go with caution," he said, his voice grave. "Things are not as safe as they may appear."

Thorin's hand touched the handle of his axe. "I don't fear any brigands, but thank you for your concern."

The gate closed behind them with a solid thunk, and Bell let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Finally away from the swarming masses of the city she felt like a weight had been lifted. Following Thorin across the bridge and down a trail leading along the lakeshore to the east, she smiled at the play of the damp air through the ringlets that had escaped her braid, and a pair of frolicking swallows flitting like drunken arrows just over the water's rippling surface.

It reminded her a bit of home. The smells were different, and there were no lakes of such size in the Shire, but the sense of peace and tranquility lulled her into a state of blissful relaxation.

Thorin finally drew to a halt beside a flat, sandy beach, different from what they'd passed so far, which had been littered with rocks and dotted with reeds and bracken. He set down the sack with their lunch and glanced back towards her.

"Isn't it a little early yet to eat?" she asked.

"We aren't eating." He sat down and began to unlace his boots.

A shiver of nervous anticipation slid through Bell. "What are we doing, then?" she asked, suddenly afraid that she didn't really want to know the answer.

After divesting himself of his boots, Thorin's overshirt came off next, followed by the undershirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, but the businesslike way in which he'd gone about undressing told her this wasn't a chance to steal a few kisses in private.

"I'm fulfilling a promise," he said, and offered her his hand. "I'm teaching you to swim."

_But it was a jest!_ She stayed where she was, her feet rooted to the ground. "I'm not sure that's a good idea . . ."

"Bell," Thorin said, coming near and linking his fingers through hers, "you need to know this." The heat of his body radiated off him, drawing her towards him without her own volition.

Seemingly aware of the subtle way she drew nearer, he stepped away, closer to the water. Bell closed her eyes and followed. "Good," he said, in a soft, encouraging tone. "Trust me."

She didn't open her eyes until the water lapped at her toes, then they flew open, only to find Thorin's watching her. "The first trick is to find something that can float and hold on tight," he said, pulling her deeper. "For the moment, that's me."

Thorin moved slowly, coaxing her out until she was up to her chest in the lake. The water was chilly, but not as icy as she had feared. It took all of her nerve, but she forced herself to listen to his tuition, to do what he asked of her. Before he took pity on her, she'd managed to float on her back, although her legs kept trying to sink, and she'd achieved a horribly awkward paddle that seemed to splash a good deal more than was necessary, but did keep her moving forward.

Her tendency to want to panic didn't help, but every time she thought she was sinking, he was there to cling to, and he never insisted she put her face underwater.

Before too long, she no longer felt the need to reach for him so often and, in the end, she paddled herself towards the shore fully under her own power until her feet hit the ground and she staggered out of the lake, panting with the effort and the cold.

They huddled together on the shore in a patch of sunshine to thaw and dry. Thorin was better off, as he was wearing fewer wet clothes, and Bell nestled as close to him as she could. "You did well," he said, rubbing his hand over her arm.

A short laugh burst from her lips. "You call that well?"

"I call that better than I expected." His lips curved into a smile. "I'm not saying you're likely to win any competitions, but if you keep your wits you should be able to keep yourself afloat, at least for a while. It's important, and you'll be the stronger for it."

Bell realized it was true. Already, she found that knowing she could do at least something to save herself was dulling the edge of her fears. She smiled. "Then the next lesson should be how to use a blade. I'm more likely to need that where we're going than knowing how to swim."

Thorin's face darkened and his hand stopped moving. "You won't be needing to know how to use a blade."

"But-the mountain? We'll be back in the wild. There could be wolves. Or worse."

Thorin stared into the distance, and Bell followed his gaze. Ever since she'd set foot outside the house in Lake-town, despite the sunshine overhead, a heavy cloud bank had covered the sky to the north. Now, the wind caught in the wisps of cloud and blew them apart in worn tatters, revealing the stark slopes of the Lonely Mountain.

Her breath caught in her throat. The Lonely Mountain was massive. Even with strips of it blocked from view, it dominated the horizon. Sunlight glinted off its peak and the snowfields draping its shoulders like well-polished armor. Deep shadows clung in its valleys, giving it a forbidding look. What would it be like to stand there? Even at this distance it made Bell feel insignificant. How much more so when her feet trod upon its granite flanks?

Bell pushed the worry away. It didn't matter how small she felt. There was strength in numbers, and after all they had been through together, she trusted in the company.

Thorin's voice broke through her thoughts. "You won't be needing to know how to use a blade, because you won't be coming with us."


	41. Chapter 41

_You won't be needing to know how to use a blade, because you won't be coming with us_.

For a moment, it seemed as if the world froze. Bell no longer felt the breeze, nor heard the soft lap of the water along the lakeshore and the occasional twitters of the swallows.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I must have gotten more water in my ears than I thought. I thought I heard you say I won't be coming with you."

"That's because I did. I'm not bringing you to Erebor, Bell. Not with the threat of the dragon still lying in wait."

Thorin's arm tightened around her and for the first time, it wasn't a comfort. Bell surged to her feet, and the world started moving again. The wind bit chill through her damp clothes, raising gooseflesh on her skin. A frog croaked nearby, loud and rhythmic.

"Don't you think it might have been good to ask me how I feel?" Bell's hands tingled, and she realized her breath was racing. She curled her fingers into tight fists. "What gives you the right to make such a decision for me?"

Thorin looked up at her with a stunned expression. His face had gone white, and a muscle twitched in the corner of his jaw. Bell thought he might try to rise, to touch her, but it seemed he had the good sense to realize she would only push him away.

"Bell," he said, his voice pitched carefully, as if he were speaking to a child teetering on the edge of a tantrum, "this is for your protection."

"My protection?" She was trembling now, unable to contain the emotions that surged through her veins. "I have followed you through more danger than I could have dreamed. I've given myself to you-to this quest-and now you would put me aside at the last moment? Do you not go into the same danger? How is it that what is right for you is not for me?"

Blackness began to creep in at the edges of her vision and she feared she might faint. She had to get away. She couldn't let him see how this desertion stole her strength, her very breath. If she showed weakness now, he would use it to argue his point. She wouldn't give him that weapon.

"Please," he said, finally beginning to rise, "let me explain-"

"There's nothing to explain. You've made a choice, Thorin Oakenshield, leader of men. Who am I to speak against it? I'm not even a member of the company. I never signed a contract."

"This isn't about a contract."

"No," Bell said, hating the tremor in her voice. "It isn't." She took a step away, needing to put distance between them. He was too close. Too overwhelming. "I'm walking away, Thorin. I need time to think. Please don't follow me."

She turned away, forcing herself to keep her shoulders straight, to fight back the tears that threatened to swamp her. The fine sand underfoot wedged itself between her toes with each step, the tiny grains a small irritation to focus on until she was out of sight.

"At least take the food," Thorin said.

As if she could eat.

Bell ignored him and kept walking.

#

As soon as Bell was out of sight, Thorin threw on his clothing, tightening his scabbard with an angry tug. That hadn't gone well at all. He'd counted on Bell's innate understanding of him, her uncanny way of comprehending what drove him, even when he wasn't certain himself. He'd known she wouldn't be pleased with the idea of remaining behind, but hadn't let himself fear such an angry response.

Cursing himself for a fool, Thorin took off after her. She'd told him not to follow, but he wasn't about to leave her unguarded in the wilderness, especially not after Bard's warning earlier. He'd keep his distance, though. Stay out of sight. Give her time to work through her shock and upset.

The accusing tone in her voice reverberated through his skull. _You've made a choice, Thorin Oakenshield, leader of men_. And that was where he'd gone wrong. He _was_ a leader of men. He was used to making choices and having them obeyed. The mistake was in assuming it would hold true for someone who was not one of his own.

Bell was right. She had signed no contract. His commands were only as strong as she wished them to be. She wasn't a soldier to be ordered about. She was the woman he loved. He should have gone about it differently. Gently.

_Thorin Oakenshield, you are an idiot._

Just ahead, he caught the sound of quiet sobs. Forcing himself to slow down and remain hidden was harder than he could have imagined. All he wanted was to go to her, to make her listen, make her understand. To soothe away the tears that he had caused.

Still, he realized that right now he was the last person she wanted to see. He would maintain his distance and his vigilance. It was all he could do for the moment. He thought he knew her well enough to believe that once she'd had time to think, she'd be able to look past her own hurt feelings and hear him out. He just had to be patient. He'd waited decades for the right moment to make his assault on Erebor. He could wait a few hours for this.

#

Bell's feet followed the dusty path of their own accord. Her clothes, at least, had mostly dried, but she couldn't say as much for her eyes. It was stupid to cry, she knew. Tears solved nothing. They couldn't wash away the memory of Thorin's words. Couldn't sweep away the anger she'd hurled at him in response. She tried not to think of his face and the shocked sorrow she'd seen there. If she did, it might weaken her resolve. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.

She didn't know how long she'd been walking before the bridge to Lake-town came into view. Two figures stood near its end along the shore, casting lines out into the water. Too short for Men, Bell knew they were Dwarves, and the sunlight glinting off a bald head told her the nearest was Dwalin. His body blocked most of the other, but she caught a glimpse of white hair.

It should have been a peaceful scene, two brothers fishing in a rare moment of peace, but Bell couldn't see them without thinking this might be their last opportunity.

They weren't looking her way, so she thought she might pass by unseen, west along the trail. She couldn't return to the city yet. Relying on her stealth, she moved as silently as she could. There were no trees between the trail and the shore. Nothing to hide behind, if Dwalin and Balin were to notice her.

She'd nearly come even with them when Dwalin gave a shout. "I got one!"

"Well, reel it in, Brother!"

Hoping the distraction would hold, Bell hurried ahead, but her tear- blurred eyes didn't see the hole in the middle of the path. Her foot hit the edge and slipped down and in. She couldn't bite back a startled yelp.

"Who's there?" said Balin, then, "Oh, it's you Miss Goodchild."

Bell tried to pull herself together, to smile and greet the brothers as if everything were all right, but she couldn't. She turned away, trying to hide her face, but it was too late.

"What's the matter, lass?" Dwalin said, his heavy accent broader than usual. "Balin, take the pole." The sound of Dwalin's footsteps drew near. He touched her shoulder with a tentative hand. "Are ye hurt? Where's Thorin?"

She couldn't answer, not without her voice breaking. Instead, she shook off Dwalin's hand and waved behind her.

Dwalin's voice went dark. "What's he done?"

Unable to bear Dwalin's concern, Bell managed, "Please, just let me go," then took off running.

#

Thorin watched from behind a bush on the far side of the trail.

Dwalin kicked at the dirt and stalked back towards Balin. "He's made her cry. I'm going to kill him."

Balin sighed, finished reeling in the fish at the end of the line, and handed the rod back to his brother. "No, you're not. You're going to stay out of it."

"Stay out of-did you see her? I told her if he broke her heart, he'd answer to me."

Thorin stepped out of his place of concealment. "I haven't broken her heart. Not yet, at least."

Dwalin stalked towards him, gripping the fishing pole like a quarterstaff. Thorin felt a tremor of fear slide through him. Of all the Dwarves, Dwalin was the only one who was truly his match, physically. Both were of a height, both equals in battle prowess, but when Dwalin let rage rule him Thorin was honest enough to believe Dwalin might be able to best him.

"If that wasn't a broken heart, then what do you call it," Dwalin growled.

"An error in judgment," Thorin replied, raising his hands palms-out in front of him, to show he held no weapon. "One that I mean to remedy."

"You told her you're leaving her here, didn't you?" said Balin in a quiet voice.

Thorin nodded. How had Balin known? He'd taken pains to hide his planning.

"Dwalin, leave him be," Balin said. "Thorin and I need to have a talk."

"I can't, Balin." Thorin's eyes turned down the trail where Bell had vanished. "Not and leave her alone and unguarded." Dwalin was still glaring at him, as if his eyes could shoot lighting. He knew Dwalin had developed an almost paternal affection for Bell. Now, he was grateful. "Dwalin, go after her. If she won't speak to you, then so be it, but see to it she's safe."

Dwalin raised one eyebrow, his hands fingering the fishing rod.

"_Please_."

Dwalin must have heard the desperation in his voice. He shoved the fishing rod into Thorin's hands and pulled an axe from the belt at his waist. "You fix this," he said, pressing a finger into Thorin's sternum. "Fix it."

Turning away, Dwalin trotted off after Bell and Thorin finally allowed himself to breathe. She would be safe with the burly Dwarf to watch over her.

Balin beckoned him towards the shore. Thorin followed, quiet and thoughtful. They sat down and looked out over the water towards Lake-town in silence for a long time, until finally Thorin said, "How did you know?"

Balin looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "I was there with you, laddie. The day that Erebor fell. I remember it as well as you do. If I loved someone, I couldn't bring them within range of the dragon's flame."

"You make it sound like I don't love you and the rest of the company.

"That's different, and you know it."

Thorin sighed and gazed northward. The Lonely Mountain had disappeared back behind its cloudy veil. "You're right, of course."

"Will you explain to her?"

Thorin gave a rueful snort. "If she gives me a chance. I was an idiot about it."

"Yes, well, I have to admit I don't find that surprising. You've a stout heart, but for all your years, you've never learned to deal well with women, save perhaps your sister."

Thorin rested his head in his hands. "I never wanted to. From everything I ever saw, love only brought pain. I don't think I was far wrong."

"That discounts the joy, Thorin-lad."

After another long silence, Balin rose, groaning when his legs creaked. "It'll be getting on towards sundown before long. You'd best track down my brother and your lass, or all three of you'll be caught out for the night."

Thorin got to his feet and stretched. He hadn't realized how long they'd been sitting. "I will."

"And, Thorin," Balin said, "good luck."

#

Bell had become aware of heavy steps following her not long after passing the bridge. It wasn't Thorin. For all he was a Dwarf, and a large one, he was better at disguising the sound of his footsteps than most of the rest. Taking a surreptitious glance behind, Bell discovered it was Dwalin following her. He made no attempt to join her, though, so she ignored him and continued on her way.

Before long, her tears had spent themselves, and she walked onward in a foggy daze. She knew she shouldn't go too far. She had to be back before the city gates closed for the night. For all she was upset, spending the night without any supplies would be foolish and self-indulgent, especially with Dwalin tailing her.

Already, she was feeling twinges of guilt for running off without giving Thorin a chance to explain his reasoning. But wasn't that just what he'd done? Run ahead without giving her a chance to voice her own?

Bell stepped off the trail and made her way to the lakeshore. A downed log lay near the water and she settled herself on the smooth bark. "It's all right, Dwalin," she called. "You can come out."

The Dwarf appeared from behind a tree at the edge of a nearby copse and came to join her. He sat down gingerly, keeping a safe distance between them, looking at her warily, as if he were afraid she were about to burst into tears again. "How'd you know I was following ye?"

She shook her head with a sad half-smile. "Let's just say you'd be best off to leave the burgling to Mister Baggins."

His foot tapped the ground. "Well, I've always been more of one to charge in head-first. Sneaking doesn't come easy."

"It was good of you to come after me."

"Wasn't my doing," Dwalin said, not meeting her eyes.

"Thorin?"

"Aye. He was following you. I nearly took off his head, after seeing he made you cry."

"But you didn't?"

"I didn't. He was that worried about you, lass, alone out here. Sent me to keep an eye on you."

Of course he did. Stubborn Dwarf. "I'm glad you didn't hurt him."

Dwalin gave a harrumph. "Seemed to me he was hurting enough as it was. Are you ready to go back?"

"Not just yet." Her temper was difficult to rouse, but once it reached the boiling point, it sometimes took a while to cool.

"Do you want to . . . talk about it?" Dwalin's voice rose on the last three words, as if he was very much afraid she might take him up on the offer.

She shook her head. "I'd ask you to leave me in peace, but I know you wouldn't go."

"Take what time you need. I'll be nearby."

"Thank you, Dwalin. You're a good friend."

He gave her an awkward pat on the knee and rose, slipping away down the shore to the east, keeping just within sight, but not so close she felt stifled.

Bell closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the afternoon. The swallows were still playing over the lake, but a new birdcall had joined them. She searched her memory, trying to put a name to it, and finally settled on a thrush. They were rare in the Shire, but their song was unique and she could never quite forget it.

A raft of lilies floated nearby, their scent sweet and soothing. Bell breathed it in, letting the smell quiet her pulse and soften the edges of her temper. How long would it be before Thorin reappeared? In her heart, she knew he wouldn't leave her alone for too long. The end of the day was drawing close and the company's departure on the morrow made time of the essence. He would seek her out, and she would listen. She had to.

But she would make sure he listened to her as well.


	42. Chapter 42

How long she sat, lost in her thoughts, she didn't know, but Dwalin's voice finally roused her. "Thorin's here, Miss Goodchild. Should I send him away?"

Bell opened her eyes. The sun had dropped low. There could be little more than an hour left before nightfall. Suddenly aware of the chill, she shivered. "No. It's all right. I need to talk to him."

"You'll be all right?"

She smiled. "I'll be fine. You should head back to town. It's getting late."

"Are you going to listen to your own advice?"

"Don't worry, Dwalin," said Thorin, coming up behind him. "I'll make sure we're back before they close the gate."

Bell didn't look at him. She couldn't. Not yet. "Go on, Dwalin," she said. "And thank you again."

Muttering under his breath, Dwalin shoved his axe back into his belt and strode east along the shore trail. Bell watched him go. Her breath had gone shallow, now that she was alone with Thorin. It was all well and good to think brave thoughts when they were apart, but faced with the reality of him, Bell worried her courage might desert her.

He didn't come any closer, waiting until Dwalin was out of sight. Once he was gone, Thorin turned her way. She could feel his gaze on her face, although she kept her own on the ground. "I'm sorry, Bell," he said. "I should have spoken to you first."

"Yes," she said. "You should."

"Will you listen to me now? Will you let me explain?"

Bell sighed. "I will, but only if you promise to hear me out, too."

"I promise."

Bell's stomach made a loud grumble. She pressed her hand into her gut, but it was too late to stop the noise.

Thorin settled himself on the log beside her, in the same space Dwalin had earlier occupied. "I brought the food with me," he said, offering her the wrapped bundle. "Maybe we should eat before we talk. It's easier to think straight when you're not hungry."

#

They ate in silence. Thorin hardly tasted the food, and hunger was the last thing on his mind, but he didn't think Bell would eat if he didn't as well so he forced himself to swallow at least a part of his share. The sun continued its westward descent, the trees along the nearer shore casting long shadows out over the water.

When she'd eaten one of the rolls and a wedge of cheese, Bell folded the rest back into the cloth. It was hardly enough to be considered a meal, but Thorin was glad she'd at least eaten something. "We should start heading back," he said. "Sunset will come sooner than we expect, I think. We'll find somewhere private to speak in town."

She didn't argue, just got to her feet and turned east. Part of the way down the trail, a set of clawed footprints crossed over it. Bell didn't seem to take any notice, but Thorin knew wolf tracks when he saw them. They hadn't been there when he'd come down the path earlier. He eased the axe partway free, leaving it loose in case he needed it, but they reached the end of the bridge without incident.

Bell paused before setting foot on the planks leading out to the city. "I don't like this place," she said. "I don't like the feel of it, and I don't like its Master. He can't wait to see the backs of the company. I overheard him talking. I don't think he'd be pleased to have me remain behind."

"Folks here have been welcoming," Thorin said. "I know they're different, and I know the Master isn't as generous as he's presenting himself, although he's promised me to give you a place in exchange for payment once Erebor is reclaimed, but there are good people here, too. The healers who gave their time to care for you and the rest. The fishermen who gave us food. The goodwives who donated their time and goods to clothe us."

"Yes, I know," Bell said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't want to seem ungrateful. It's been all right, with the rest of you here. I'm just afraid of what it would be like when you're gone."

She looked so small, and so lost, Thorin's heart turned over in his chest. He risked placing a hand at the small of her back. "Come on," he said. "Let's get inside before Bard locks the gate."

#

Once they were inside, they made their way towards the long pier that held the Dwarves' temporary housing. Bell dreaded seeing any of the others, and was grateful when Thorin led her past the house, all the way to the end of the pier. A ramp led down to a floating dock where several rowboats were moored. She flexed her knees to compensate for the dock's subtle rocking motion.

There was a bench at the end of the dock and Thorin motioned for her to sit. The last violet rays of sundown illuminated the night. Most of the cloud cover had slipped away from the Lonely Mountain. Its heights still caught a bit of brighter light, and the snowfields shone with a pale orange glow.

Thorin settled himself beside her and pointed north towards the base of the mountain. "You can't see it from here," he said, "but outside the doors of the mountain lie the ruins of a city. Dale, it was called. A great city of Men. Built to last. Stone towers which were built with the guidance of the Dwarves. Masonry like none to be found anywhere else north of Gondor and east of the Anduin."

His voice took on a distant tone, as if he were watching images of the past play out before him. "Erebor thrived, and Dale along with it. Commerce, trade, and a comfortable camaraderie between Men and Dwarves bloomed there, like heather on the heath. It was there that I grew, son of Thrain, son of Thror, destined to someday inherit the kingship under the mountain. I dreamed and planned. How to continue to make my people prosper. To maintain the alliances, and build a brighter future."

Bell watched the light on the mountain dim. Stars pricked the sky's dark mantle, twinkling and brilliant. She tried to imagine the Thorin he described. Young and vital, not yet worn down by the blow fate was about to deal him. It was hard to picture. Even now, dimmed as he was by life's trials, he shone brighter than the stars. What would it have been like to know him then?

"There are stories told of the Dwarves," he continued, "that we lust for gold and riches. There's some truth to that. It doesn't come to all of us, but there are some susceptible to that addiction to wealth. My grandfather was one of them. I watched as it took him, unable to do more than look on. The wealth of Erebor grew, filling the lower halls with gold and other treasures, until it grew too great to be overlooked. If there is one creature more drawn to gold than a Dwarf with the sickness on him, it's a dragon."

A shudder ran through Thorin. Bell felt the bench tremble with the force of it. Without pausing to think, she shifted closer, touching her fingers against the back of his hand.

He turned it palm-up and laced his roughened fingers between her smaller ones, clenching hard. "I will never forget that day, Bell," he said, his voice so deep it rumbled from his chest like the shifting of stones. "The groaning of the pines. The wind of his wings that snapped young trees in two and tattered the banners of Erebor."

Bell ran her free hand over Thorin's thumb. Nearly imperceptible tremors racked him. How much it cost him to speak of this. "It's all right," she whispered. "You don't have to keep going."

He turned to her, his face nearly invisible now in the darkness, save for his eyes, which caught the glimmer of the torches on a parallel pier. "Yes, I do. I need you to understand."

She bit her lip and nodded.

Thorin's gaze shifted back to the north. "Smaug came first for Dale. The towers of the city fell beneath his flames. We saw it from the battlements. Watched while the city burned. To see the people running, turned into living torches, knowing we could do nothing to save them-knowing where the dragon would next turn his rage . . ." He swallowed convulsively. "All that remains of Dale is a ruined shell. The last time I passed through it, charred corpses lined the streets, where they had tried to flee. The smell of it-for many years I could not eat roasted meat. Imagine that of a Dwarf."

"And Erebor?"

"I tried, Bell. I gathered the men. We guarded the entry. We tried to fight. It was useless. Smaug broke the gate. He broke the mountain. Mighty stones fell in a rain of death. Dwarves were crushed beneath Smaug's feet. I missed joining them by inches. I can still see his foot, glittering like gold. I tried to stab him, but my blade slid off his scales. I couldn't so much as scratch him. The blood of my people clung to his hide. It was all I could do to get a small band of us out of the city. I nearly lost my grandfather, Thror. He would have remained, unable to tear himself from his gold, had I not dragged him away."

Thorin's voice hitched, and Bell thought he was crying. Thorin Oakenshield, the rock of the Dwarves. This haunted memory had the power to break his iron control. Bell released his hand and wrapped her arms around him. He remained rigidly straight, refusing to acknowledge his weakness, and wiped his cheeks angrily with the back of a hand.

"So many people died that day, Bell, and I could do nothing-_nothing_-to save them. Smaug hasn't been seen in sixty years, but that doesn't mean he isn't still there, buried beneath the mountain. I haven't let myself think much farther ahead than finding the back door. Gandalf seems to think we have a chance of success, but if the dragon is still there, still waiting . . ."

He turned towards her, capturing her shoulders between his broad hands. "If I brought you to the mountain, Bell, knowing what waits there-if anything were to happen-_hammer and stone_, if I were to lose you, I don't think I could live with myself."

Bell was surprised to find tears sliding from her own eyes. "And you expect me to be content to watch you sail away, knowing you face that same danger?"

"No," he said, wiping the pad of a thumb over her damp cheek. "I know how much it will hurt. I know the fear, the terrible emptiness of not-knowing I'm asking you to face. But I have to, Bell. I'm begging you. Stay here. Stay safe. Let me face the mountain with at least that much assurance. I couldn't save the people of Dale. I couldn't save my own. At least let me have this. Let me protect you. Give me this one bit of peace."

His moment of weakness had passed, replaced by a fervent tide that battered against her resolve.

"I have a horrible feeling," she whispered, "that we'd be making a mistake if I stay here."

"But you will?"

After seeing how much it meant, how much it would hurt him if she refused, she knew she was beaten. She couldn't bear to cause him pain.

Bell lowered her head and buried her face against his chest. "I will."

#

They remained there on the bench, wrapped close, until Bell began to shiver from the cold. She hardly felt Thorin's hands when he pulled her to her feet. "Come," he said, "let's get you inside and warm."

Most of the Dwarves had already taken to their beds, but Balin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili still sat in the living room of the house, along with Bilbo, who was puffing a pipe by the fire.

Dwalin looked up when they entered, his eyes narrowing. "Everything all right?"

Bell nodded, although she felt far from all right.

"Did you get the last of the supplies accounted for, Fili?" asked Thorin.

"Everything's ready for the morning, Uncle. They expect to sail at first light."

Thorin nodded. "Then you all had best get some rest."

Bell turned down the hall towards her room on legs that felt made of wood. Thorin followed after and closed the door behind him. She crawled into the bed, without so much as considering taking the time to change into her borrowed chemise. The day had been too long, too emotionally draining, and the morrow would be worse. She didn't know how she'd be able to watch the company sail away and leave her behind.

Thorin settled himself on the edge of the bed and tucked a curl behind her ear. "You'll try to sleep?"

"I'll try, but I don't see how I'll succeed. How can I when I know what tomorrow brings?"

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, paused, closed it, then tried again. "Bell," he said, "I know what tomorrow brings, but I don't want to think about that tonight. I want to think about the tomorrows that will come after. After Erebor is retaken, and there's nothing left of Smaug but memories best left in the past."

Bell smiled sadly. "Can you even look that far ahead?"

"I can. I have." He reached into a pouch that hung at his waist and pulled out a thin band of silver. "This isn't much," he said, rolling it between his fingers, "the blacksmith wouldn't spare me any finer materials, but I want you to wear it, if you'll have me."

Bell's breath caught. Her gaze took in the ring's delicate form. Two separate strands of silver had been woven together, one left smooth, the other dappled with a pattern that called to mind the leaves of the hedgerows that webbed the hills of the Shire. "Did you make that?" she asked, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing and hearing.

Thorin ducked his head. "I know you deserve better, but it was all I could craft in so short a time."

Bell sat up and touched his cheek. The soft bristles of his beard tickled her palm. "I wouldn't need any ring, Thorin Oakenshield, but this is more beautiful than I could have dreamed."

A slow smile spread over his face, lighting his eyes from within. "Then you'll have me?"

"I will have you. Just come home to me safely."

Thorin took her hand and slid the ring over her finger. It fit snugly, but not too tight, as if he'd known exactly the size to make it. Which, she supposed, he had.

He bent close and caught her lips in a gentle kiss. "I love you, Bell Goodchild. Thank you. For everything."

Bell didn't trust herself to speak. She was too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Joy at this unexpected, but most welcome, proposal combined with dread for Thorin's safety and the overarching feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Letting her hands speak for her, she drew him closer, trying to lose herself in the pleasure of his lips on hers. This would be their last moments together for what might be a very long time. She wanted to make the most of them, but to her dismay, her weariness and worries intervened.

Thorin didn't resist when she pulled away. He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. "It's all right," he said. "Go to sleep."

He pulled the blanket over her and tucked it beneath her chin, then rose and made for the door.

"Thorin?"

He paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"I do have one request," Bell said. "Please . . . will you stay with me tonight? I don't want to be alone."

His smile warmed the cold ball of fear that curled in her belly. "I have to go make sure everything is fully settled, but I'll be back before you know it."

By the time Thorin returned, Bell drifted at the edge of slumber, unable to fully sleep for fear of the dreams she knew would plague her. When she felt him slip under the blanket and wrap his arm over her, she turned towards him, curling towards his warmth. Finally able to relax, she let sleep drag her under, only just aware of his callused finger tracing the thin silver band on her left hand.


End file.
